


Vanishing Winter

by SocialMoth



Series: Vanishing Winter [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Incredibles (2004)
Genre: Angst, Complete, Crossover, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, belief is a precious thing, make that ALL the feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialMoth/pseuds/SocialMoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jamie, Jack had one believer - a little girl named Violet Parr.</p><p>--</p><p>This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet's Wish

**Author's Note:**

> June 2013
> 
> Basically, my brain decided this was appropriate. And the idea WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE.
> 
> So, twenty days of frenzied writing, a break of a couple weeks to work on thing for school, and then a session of crash-editing later, here we are.
> 
> This is more-or-less completely written, so updates should, theoretically, be rather quick. No promises, though; school does start for me on the 26th, after all... And if I can get my head in the right place for it, I would like to add some things to the later chapters...
> 
> Anyway, off we go! First foray into two new fandoms I'd never written for, before. Let's see how I did, eh?
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Violet didn't like the winters in Texas very much. All the winters meant was less-sweltering heat.

When Mom told her the family had to move again, the first thing she wanted to know was whether they would get snow.

Mom had smiled fondly and said, "Most likely." Violet cheered, her racket startling her toddler brother. Mom gently chided her to calm down. And she did, though she still bounced in excitement. The possibilities of snowball fights and sledding took away some of the sting of moving again, having to be the "new kid" once more when she had only just settled out of it at her elementary school.

She didn't see her mother sigh wearily at the cluster of unpacked cardboard boxes remaining from their last move.

–

_'Welcome to Burgess, Pennsylvania'_

Violet slowly read it to herself – the sign flashed by before she could quite make it through "Pennsylvania." Was March too late for snow, here? There wasn't any on the ground.

The tree in their new backyard had a plank swing left over from the last family that lived there. The second night at her new house, Violet sat out on the swing in the cold air. She stared up at the full moon, drew out its face. She waited and waited for Mom to call her in for dinner. It was meatloaf. She said at school that she hated meatloaf, because everyone else hated meatloaf; but it was one of the things her mother made that she really, really liked.

And then she thought she saw a star. It was so _cold_ outside, and had been ever since they'd come to Burgess, but all she'd _seen_ so far to show for it was a bit of frost on the grass. She looked up at that star. Thinking hard, she kicked back on the swing and glided back and forth a few times over the dewy ground. Grasping the ropes tightly, she leaned back to look at the lone star and the moon glowing next to it. "Star light," she murmured, "star bright," she continued, reciting the rhyme she'd only heard on TV and out of storybooks.

"I wish for snow," she said earnestly at the end, sitting up in the swing and making her biggest eyes at the star. "Lots and _lots_ of snow." After a long staring contest with the star to prove how badly she wanted it, Violet leaned back on the ropes again, gazing up through the tree branches into the black night sky, hoping that maybe the flakes would start falling right then. But they didn't. Violet pouted. "Please?" she added in her most cloying voice.

"Vi," Mom called from the back porch, "Time for dinner!" Violet slid off the swing and trudged up to the house, casting one last imploring glance skyward. The sliding door shut heavily behind her and soon she forgot about the whole thing.

Back in the tree, a teenaged boy clothed in faded brown pants and an indigo crewneck sweater, both spider-webbed with frost, tightened his grip on a long shepherd's crook.

–

"Are you ready for your first day at your new school tomorrow, sweetie?" Mom asked as she tucked Violet into bed. Violet looked wary.

"I don't like being the new kid," she fretted, looking down at her stuffed lilac-colored bunny in her lap rather than her mom. Sympathetic, Mom kissed her hair.

"It will be okay, Vi. You'll make lots of new friends before you even know it."

"But what if we have to move _again?"_ Violet asked, turning worried blue eyes up to her mother.

Helen started to assure Violet that they weren't going to move again (at least not any time soon). But that was what she had said the last time. And it had been so hard on Violet to relocate so soon. Her daughter was shy, _very_ shy. She would talk enough at the family table but it was always in this quiet, ill-certain voice. It had been hard for her to get over being an outsider even if she had started kindergarten from the first day of the school year. Their Texas home had been in a small town; all the kids already knew each other from daycare and play dates.

And now here in Pennsylvania, Violet was about to be dropped into the middle of the school year with entirely new students and teachers after she'd finally managed to settle in and find her place. "Mom? What if we move again?" Violet repeated. Helen forced a smile.

"We won't move again for a very long time, Vi," Helen said – and if the past had anything to say, they did have at least a year or two. And to a child as young as Violet, that _did_ seem like a _very_ long time. Thankfully Violet seemed to buy that. She squeezed the plush rabbit to her chest as she lied down, head on her pillow. Helen pulled the chain on the bedside lamp and a soft lavender glow slid across the room. "Good night, Violet. I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you," Violet's small voice came from the blanket mounded up at the head of the mattress.

"I love you, too, sweetheart." The overhead light clicked off and Violet nestled into a more comfortable position in the half-light of her lamp, looking toward the window. The slats pretty well obscured the view, although she could still detect the light of the moon – now dimmed behind a cloud cover that had settled in after dinner. "Star light," she started to say again, but then she shook her head at herself. There were no stars in sight, and she couldn't have said which one she saw first, anyway. And it was _dumb_ to wish on stars anyway. That was baby stuff that only worked on TV.

The boy in the indigo sweatshirt peered through the spaces in the blinds at the girl, then looked over his shoulder up to the Moon. Well, she had recited the rhyme and her wish to a star; not to the Moon and certainly not to _him_. He looked at her, sound asleep, and then to the Moon again. A mischievous grin played its way across his face. Well, he couldn't speak for the star, or the Moon, but _he_ could certainly give the girl some snow. Lots and _lots_ of snow.

And, well; it wasn't like the Moon was telling him he _couldn't_.

"Hey, Wind," he whispered, and tendrils of it kicked playfully through his hair, "Let's have a snow day."


	2. It's an Expression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeee! Thank you guys so much for the kudos and bookmarks on the last chapter! ^///^
> 
> Here's the next one for you -- please enjoy! :)
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

The TV was on when Violet woke up. She could hear it from her room. She yawned out of her half-asleep fog and pushed the covers away. Walking past the window, she didn't notice how the light washing in seemed just a little too bright...

Mom sat in front of the TV in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, a steaming mug of coffee between her palms. "Good morning, Mom," Violet said, remembering now that she had to go to school, and the dread of it seeped into her voice.

Helen startled. "Why are you up so early, sweetie?"

"I think the TV woke me up..." And then Violet saw what was on the TV. It looked like the news, but more importantly the news showed-

"There's snow?!" Violet exclaimed. She dashed to the living room window and wedged her hands between the blinds. The expanse of white fell over the sill and flooded out into the street. It looked deeper than her rainboots and it still cascaded down in puffy clumps of flakes. "Is school canceled? Is it? Is it?!" she blurted, hopping up and down in her excitement. She looked from the window to her mom, grinning wide; such a dramatic change from the sullen child she had been only moments ago. Mom was looking very hard at the TV screen. The more time passed without an answer, the more Violet's smile fell. "Mom, do I still have to go to school?" Mom held up a finger for Violet to be patient. She clasped her hands in front of her, rooted to the spot in nervous anticipation. Finally the concentrating expression on Mom's face vanished and she smiled.

"It's a snow day, Vi."

" _Yayyyyyyyyyyy!_ " Violet crowed, throwing her arms up in the air and running back into her room to bundle up just like Mom and Daddy always told her to before she went out to make snowmen. And then she looked out her window, and then she remembered!

Her wish!

The _star!_

"Mom, guess what!" she shouted, running back into the living room. Mom _shh_ 'd her, saying she would wake Dash. Violet continued in an excited whisper for a few words before talking loudly again. Even Violet, already the queen of the Inside Voice among her peers, was not immune to the power of a snow day. "Last night, before dinner, I wished on a star that there would be lots of snow. Just like on TV! And guess what? Now there's lots and lots and _lots_ of snow!" Her grin was impossibly huge. But suddenly she frowned. "How come that didn't work in Texas?" she asked.

Climate was just a bit too sophisticated a concept; and Helen wanted to keep the magic in her daughter's childhood as much as possible. "Maybe Jack Frost doesn't like Texas," she mused, smirking at her own private joke – _she_ hadn't liked Texas.

Violet stopped short, eyes wide with wonder. "Who's Jack Frost?"

Mom smiled and helped Violet put on her jacket and clipped her mittens to the ends of the sleeves. "Jack Frost is a winter spirit. He paints frost on windows, and he can bring snow, too. He must have been in the yard when you made your wish, and overheard you."

"And he made it snow just for me?"

Mom chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Just for _you_. Now, play safely," she reminded, tying Violet's scarf more securely around her neck, "Stay out of the street even if you don't see any cars coming. Stay in the yard, okay?"

"Okay, I will!" Violet promised, and without further ado she pulled the back door open and ran giggling into the continuing snowfall. She sank almost to her knees and her momentum carried her forward. She rolled over to get back up, white powder dusted down her front. The falling flakes bit her cheeks where they landed. They collected on her hat and in her long black hair. Laughing, she looked up at the white-grey sky, the thick flakes tumbling into her open mouth, sharp and cold like a juice pop. "Thank you, Jack Frost!" she yelled to the clouds, and a particularly large snowflake landed on the tip of her nose.

Wasn't that the song Daddy always played at Christmas? " _Jack Frost nipping at your nose..._ "

"Haha, you're welcome."

–

The little girl before him froze – no pun meant, being as she was knee-deep in snow. Jack paused before he flew away on the Wind. Something about the little gasp she'd let out stilled him. And quickly she looked around herself and when her wide blue eyes landed on him she opened her mouth like she might _scream_. But she didn't. She stood stock still, transfixed. He felt a tremor run up his spine and radiate out through his arms and he clenched his fingers around his staff. He blinked. She blinked, mouth still hanging open. Neither of them moved. And then, finally, with a child's open curiosity, she broke the silence.

"Are you Jack Frost?"


	3. Jack Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes - sorry about the slight delay, you guys. I started school 8/26 and free time sort of got away from me. In fact I should be homeworking now, but I just got home from the second of three days of work receptioning sooooo I kind of need to wind down.
> 
> Thank you again for the kudos and bookmarks! <3 Please enjoy!
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

_"Are you Jack Frost?"_

It echoed around his head, hammered in, and he nearly went blind with the panic ( _did she just that can't be but she said_ ) crashing through him, his staggered breath puffs of mist in the icy air. Drop-jawed in his shock, quickly favoring a broad grin that he barely managed to hold steady when he realized _she was still looking at him!_ "Y-yes!" he finally choked out, moisture welling at his eyes. He leaned heavily on his staff, overwhelmed. "Yes, I am! That's me! Jack Frost!" He sunk forward onto his knees, eyes level with hers, gripping his staff even harder to keep upright. "You can see me?"

"Of course I can," she said, frowning like she thought he was being silly. Why shouldn't she be able to see him?

All the air left him; even the Wind didn't seem to know what to do. It felt like the Wind was as baffled as he.

"You see me?" he asked again, voice pitching higher as a warm, buoyant something swelled up in his chest, and he had the feeling he might _burst_ if he couldn't get it out. The little girl nodded, looking even more now like she thought he was just trying to act dumb.

"She sees me," Jack said on a trembling rush of air, head bowing as if in reverence. He laughed weakly to himself, tension draining out of him, and only throwing a hand in front of him prevented him from keeling face-first into the snow. "She sees me," he said again and again. The balloon swelling up inside him became too much to bear and he leaped into the Wind at last, back-flipping and crowing up into the sky with unabashed _joy_. And when his breath ran out he found more and cheered again; he circled above the house, high up in the sky. He might have screamed himself hoarse except he remembered the little girl down in the back yard. Coming back to himself, Jack returned to her, kneeling down, gripping his staff nervously with both hands, but he had never smiled so hugely in his _life_.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, voice soft now, "What's your name?"

She swayed shyly, long black hair falling over one eye. "Violet Parr," she said, looking askance at him. She did not seem to have been put off by his explosion of emotion. Jack grinned and reached out toward her, staying his hand when he noticed her twitch away.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Violet Parr," he said, voice thick in his throat. He had never spoken to _anyone_ , really. Just himself and the silent Man in the Moon. And one-sided dialogue with the children he visited – those ones who never heard him or saw him no matter how hard he tried. But no one had ever talked _back_. And now that someone finally _did_... He had dreamed a million times about such a moment but he had _never_ believed in it – he had _no_ idea what to say or do.

"Are you okay, mister?" Violet Parr asked him, and Jack realized he was actually _crying_ now. Withdrawing his hand, brushing his tears away before they became flecks of ice on his face, he nodded. He took a steadying breath and let it out in an ephemeral cloud.

"Yeah. I'm great. Do... do you know, Violet, that only _very_ special people can see me?" It was the best he could come up with. And, in his heart, it was true.

Violet actually looked surprised at that. Like he had jarred something in her memory. "Daddy always says I'm special. I thought it was just because..." she cut herself off and glanced wide-eyed back at the house. Mom had always taught her not to talk about her powers, that they were a Big Secret. Jack Frost cocked his head at her, a slight crease in his brow.

"Because of what?" he gently prodded. He knew parents always told children they were special, that _everyone_ was special. And he believed that, too. But Violet Parr could _see_ him, and he believed without a doubt that did make her _very_ special. "Violet?"

And she seemed to shut herself off, looking caught between retreating into the house and standing there but bursting into tears in her frustration. Something she was not allowed to say? Jack knew this one. "I won't tell anyone else, I _promise_."

For a long moment, she stared wide-eyed at him, not even blinking. And then quicker than a blink her entire head _vanished._

"Whoa!" Jack cried, springing back onto the Wind in surprise. "Violet?!" he shouted at the empty space where here face had been, heart hammering. Where'd- How did- _What?!_

The crunch of little footsteps in the snow drew his attention back and he watched the bundle of winter clothes, holding the shape of an unseen child, make an ungainly beeline for the house. "Violet, wait, please!" he called, flying over to crouch down in front of the clothes. Violet's face reappeared before him, perhaps losing control when he startled her. "You're a Super?" he asked, marveling. He hadn't seen any sign of Super activity in over a decade, and now a little six-year-old girl had reassured him that they were still alive and well.

"Please don't tell my mom," she said, "I'm not supposed to."

"To use your powers?" Jack clarified. Violet nodded. "I already promised I wouldn't tell anyone. And I have no one to tell, Violet." He tried not to look or sound like the sadness leeching unbidden into his heart at this fact but rather like the warm happiness he'd felt when she'd locked her eyes on him. "You are the only person who can see and hear me."

She tilted her head at him. "Can't other Supers see you?" she asked. Jack shook his head.

"I don't think so. No one has seen me for 250 years."

She gasped. "You're 250 years old? _Wow_."

Jack shrugged. "Well, almost. Give or take. I stopped keeping count."

"Do you know Lucius?"

"Who?"

"You know, Frozone!"

"Oh! Yeah, he's pretty cool." He winked and smirked. It took her a moment to catch the joke and she giggled behind her hands. "He's never seen me either, though."

"Why not?"

He shrugged again. And she looked a little bit sad. "250 years is a really, really long time," she mused, "What did you do?"

By demonstration Jack called a large, delicately detailed snowflake out of the air, floating it over his open palm. Her eyes widened in awe. "So you _do_ make the snow!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands and looking giddily up at him. "You really did make this snow just for me!"

Jack felt he might be glowing. "I heard your wish last night."

"You did? Do you live here?"

Casting around him, Jack had to nod. "I guess I do. I go all over the world, but I always come back here. This... this is where I was made."

"Where's your mom and dad?"

The question landed harder than Jack wanted it to. "I don't have any," he admitted, and Violet looked really upset.

"What about friends?"

Determined now to spin the conversation around, Jack said the most positive thing he could think of, beaming down at her. "Just you, Violet Parr." and her eyes grew so wide Jack wondered if she would disappear on him again, but she didn't. Her small little hand reached forward but then she stopped herself again, appearing to be thinking hard.

"Jack Frost," she said, testing the name in her mouth. Her hand drew towards him again and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in just a little.

"Just Jack is okay," he whispered carefully; anticipating, despite himself, everything he expected to go wrong...

"Jack, are you _real_?"

It hit him like a physical blow, coming so precisely from this young child. He exhaled through the ebbing pain, refusing to break eye contact with her. Such piercing round blue eyes, so like his own but so different at the same time. Jack had asked himself (and the Moon) that same question countless times over his long life, and never received an answer, never reached one that satisfied him; he hated the thought he might not be real, really might be only a figment of someone's imagination at any time – and the instant the myth of Jack Frost died out of common knowledge, so would Jack Frost himself.

Terrifying himself in doing it, Jack held his hand out palm-up toward Violet, and her eyes trailed to it briefly before locking on his again. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

After a tiny hesitation, Violet Parr's tiny hand edged closer. Closer. Jack's heart pounded rabbit-fast in his chest and it grew hard for him to breathe. When her fingers stretched just hairs away from his he couldn't take it anymore shut his eyes tight couldn't bear to see her pass through him like he wasn't there because he _wasn't_ there he never _was_ and-

…!

Pinpoints of fire on his icy palm.

Her fingertips.

Jack wanted to collapse at the heat flaring through his body, from those little points of contact. Tears sprang to his eyes again and it all felt _amazing_. He still couldn't open his eyes and have it all turn out to be false but he closed his hand around her fingers and squeezed them and felt her warmth and she complained that his hands were really cold and he hiccuped on a sob.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Violet asked him, and he looked at her, eyes dazzling.

"I'm fantastic," he breathed. "Violet, you are _incredible_. Don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Promise?"

But _Daddy_ was Mr. Incredible. But... Jack Frost had also said she was Very Special. Maybe he didn't know that much...

But Jack actually knew just enough, and he smiled so hugely at her, looking ready to just _hug_ her and never let go if she gave him permission, that she decided she would mind him and promise him.

And finally he stood straight and steadied his staff in his hand and somehow she understood he was leaving. "Jack!" she blurted before she thought twice; he'd already leapt onto the wind, but he halted for her. "Can I see you again?"

Not even hesitating, he grinned at her, an impish smirk that promised so much more than merely _seeing_ him again. "Of course. Tonight, if you want. Look for me." Enthusiastically she nodded, and with nary a blink he whipped away on a gust of wind up into the air, onward to the sky. Violet watched him go, could faintly hear him shouting in elation. She grinned. And realized.

She'd made a new friend already.

And, he was the _coolest_ friend ever!


	4. Belief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Updates shall be on the weekends from now on cos it's easier for me to take a few minutes to do that during such times.)
> 
> One of the funner things about rereading these chapters again is noticing all the references my subconscious snuck in to all my other fandoms. Some of them are pretty obvious if you know them, others I think are rather blink-and-you-miss-it. Not that I'm setting you on a scavenger hunt, but I love it when other people get my art. :) (Don't we all?)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's keeping an eye on this for reading, and please enjoy!
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

_"Are you Jack Frost?"_

_"Will I get to see you again?"_

–

He couldn't believe it. He _couldn't_. _Believe it_.

He'd been _seen_! He'd been _named_! 250 years and a little girl in Burgess, Pennsylvania, that he'd never seen before, knew his name and believed in him!

Jack nearly fell out of the air as it all hit him again. The rush, the sheer unadulterated _exhilaration_. He was _real_ , he _existed_ , Violet Parr gave him form!

He swept his staff out in front of him and snow tumbled onto sleeping Westminster below. The Moon shone brightly on the top of the cloud cover, illuminating the alien landscape. Chuckling to himself, Jack called the Wind to stir the nearest clouds up into mountains, hills and valleys and the occasional curlicue, and he slalomed through them. He'd left the continental United States just hours ago. He had a while yet before he would be back to visit little Violet Parr again like he promised he would. He could have bounced in his anticipation were he on solid ground. He couldn't help it!

"How _did_ that even happen?" he asked the Moon, not really expecting an answer. "250 years of nothing working and all of a sudden..." he trailed off, arcing up into a halt to face the Moon, shining impassively down on him. His eyes narrowed skeptically. "I don't believe you had anything to do with it, though," he continued, maybe a little bitter about the Man in the Moon's lack of involvement in his life. "When have you ever helped me? All you've ever done for me is tell me my name..." And he became pensive again, bordering on melancholy. "How long will her belief last?" he dared to utter, hugging his staff a little without realizing it. He hated that thought. He didn't want to see that day. But he had a dreadful feeling it would come. Children all over the world stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy when they stopped losing baby teeth; Santa when they caught Mom and Dad setting presents under the tree; the Easter Bunny when they outgrew the excitement of egg hunts. When reality crushed dreams, they stopped believing in the Sandman.

What did Jack Frost ever have? Just a throwaway line in a Christmas song – overshadowed again by Santa Clause because _he_ was more liked than his snowballs and fun times. Snow melted, but Christmas presents lasted. Any thoughts of Jack Frost lasted as long as the holiday specials and ice on the windows. There was no such thing as a mall Jack Frost.

Violet wouldn't have any visual reminders of his existence except _himself,_ and he was only around in the winter. How long would she go on remembering that she saw him when no one else believed?

Anxiety shot through him and he left the snowing clouds behind, turning back westward. He couldn't handle it; he dreaded being forgotten, unbelieved in, if he wasn't by Violet's side every moment to keep on her mind.

A quiet, rational part of his mind spoke up that he was being ridiculous – when children Violet's age believed something was real, they believed it with all their might. She wouldn't just turn around and deny his existence.

And besides, children only thought of Santa and the Easter Bunny at particular times of the year, too, and that never stopped their belief.

But Jack knew belief in the intangible was a brittle thing. What could he do to keep anyone from convincing Violet he didn't actually exist? That he was "just an expression"? Very little, he realized, and this slowed his pace momentarily. But then he braced his resolve and continued on at speed. Whatever ended up happening, he would never forgive himself if he didn't at least _try_ to preserve Violet's belief in him for as long as possible.

She'd _looked_ at him. She'd _seen_ him. She'd said his _name_. She'd _touched_ him. Chills shot up and down his spine, raced through his limbs at the recollection of it all. The echoes of joy charging him up and setting his hair on end. That feeling... he _refused_ to let it go, give it up. He was _not_ going to separate himself from that, at all costs. He was not losing this. Never. Not for one second.

Burgess appeared below and he dove. It was still only late afternoon; it still snowed. Jack called for even more to dump down. He could create snow days for a week if he wanted to; he thought he just might. He did not want to miss any possible moment, not one opportunity.

Jack drifted by Violet's house just to check in, peeking in the windows. She was watching TV, curled up with what looked like a mug of hot chocolate – hard to tell over her shoulder. A little blonde boy also sat on the couch, on the opposite end. So Violet had a little brother. Jack wondered if she had told the little boy about him.

Why wasn't she outside? He'd seen other kids playing together in front yards, in the park. Why didn't Violet join them?

Her mother appeared and he saw her lips move. Violet shook her head, looked down. Jack settled out of the air onto the porch and grew more attentive. Violet was shy, he realized with a start, recalling her body language at their first meeting, how she'd initially retreated from his offered hand. And he hadn't seen her in Burgess before today...

She was new in town. That had to be it. She didn't have any friends here yet, and she wasn't brave enough to go out and try even when she had the perfect chance.

The unhappy thought occurred to him that her ability to turn invisible might actually be more than just her superpower, but also her strongest defense, to the point it even _enabled_ her shyness. No one could make her interact with other people if they couldn't find her, right?

Jack called a snowball into his hand, bounced it a few times. He knew just the thing he could do to help her open up a little, but she needed to be in with a group of other kids to make it work...

The laughter and chatter of young voices, muffled by the snow, caught his attention and he zoomed around to the front of the house. These kids, he knew. Ten-year-old Brad Rydinger and his brother Tony, and Pam Sanders, the latter two Violet's age. He knew exactly what to do. He threw the snowball at the living room window, right where Violet could see it, and bounded up to watch from the roof.

The noise startled the kids, too. They were all still watching the window when Violet's face appeared between the blinds.

"Isn't that the new family that moved in?" Brad murmured. Pam shrugged. Tony waved. Violet eventually chanced a timid wave back. Tony gestured for her to come out. Taken aback, Violet hesitated, then vanished from sight only to reappear at the opened door. "Want to play?" Tony called to her. Jack squatted on the eave above the door to hear better. She didn't answer for a long time. "I'm Tony! What's your name?"

"Who's at the door, sweetie?" Mom's voice came from inside the house. Brad approached the porch to politely introduce himself and the others.

"Who threw the snowball?" Violet asked, looking rather cross. Jack's spirits fell – this wasn't the way things were supposed to go! And he couldn't just pitch another snowball when everyone was looking at each other...

All the kids denied it. Violet narrowed her eyes, brows angling down severely. "Liars," she said.

"Vi," Mom chided, touching her hair. Violet jerked away, returning to the couch. Jack shifted onto his knees and leaned forward, hanging down so he could look in through the doorway without her seeing him. The kids at the door looked nervous. They weren't lying!

"We just wanted to play," Pam offered. Mom's eyes softened sympathetically.

"Did you hear that, Violet? Why don't you go out and play, and make some new friends?"

"Yeah, let's be friends!" Tony supplemented, even poking his head in under Mom's arm to grin winningly at Violet. For a brief moment Violet looked interested, but her expression quickly grew hard again.

"I already have a new friend, Mom. I don't want any more."

"Violet," Mom started to say, but then her daughter disappeared into her room. Biting her lip, she turned back to the youngsters still on her doorstep. "I'm sorry, kids. My daughter is very shy and she's still upset about moving. Will any of you see her at school?"

"I think she's going to be in our class," Pam said, looking at Tony, who nodded.

"Please try to make friends with her. She's a nice girl," Helen assured them.

"Okay, we will," the kids promised, and they turned and left.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself back up and slipped his feet over the edge of the roof, swinging them moodily as he bowed his head in resignation. That hadn't worked at all like he'd wanted. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised, though. Violet wasn't like other kids, after all. She was a Super. She felt different as a baseline without also being an outsider. She'd been through a lot already and adjusting was going to be hard for her.

_"I already have a new friend."_

Did that mean _him_?

His heart swelled at the thought, though he still wished she could have at least given it a try with the other kids. _They_ were always going to be real. Himself... well, that he couldn't guarantee.

Sighing again in defeat, Jack slid off the roof into the Wind, and he let it carry him up and away. He would be back again in a few hours. Right now, he just needed time to think.

–

"That wasn't very nice, young lady," Mom said when she entered Violet's room. Unsympathetic, Violet slouched deeper under her blanket, scowling. "You haven't played with anyone since we got here, and it's very bad manners to accuse someone of lying when you're also lying."

"But I _did_ already make a friend this morning, Mom!" Violet protested, voice keening into a whine.

"Really?" Mom said, eyebrow raised and hands on her hips; Helen had seen no one come up the front yard the whole time her daughter was outside. "What's their name?"

"Jack Frost," Violet said, eyes earnest.

Sighing, Mom dropped her hands to her sides. "Jack Frost?" she repeated. Violet nodded.

"He's got white hair and he has this huge funny-looking stick, and he doesn't wear shoes," she said rapid-fire fast, "And his skin is really cold."

"Where did you see him? Did _he_ tell you his name was Jack Frost?"

"He was in the back yard-"

"The back yard?" Mom repeated, eyes really wide. Helen hadn't been keeping as diligent an eye on the back yard, figuring it was safer since Violet wouldn't have been visible from the street anyway. Her eyebrows angled down toward her nose and Violet quieted. Mom was upset; maybe she wasn't happy that Violet had made a new friend after all, since she didn't get to meet him first. "Did... Violet, did he try to make you go anywhere with him?"

The conversation had become very serious, and Violet wasn't sure why. "No, Mom. We just talked. And he can fly, and he can make ice like Lucius, and-"

"He's a Super?"

"Well," Violet shifted, "I'm not sure. But he said I was the only one who could see him."

The tension cracked off of Helen's shoulders and overwhelming relief fell into its place. She could have collapsed from it, but she settled for a grateful exhale. _Imaginary friend_. Not a stranger nosing in her back yard. Her hand rested over her heart; it could only pound so fast when her children were involved. She breathed in and out again and Violet noticed that she did not look upset anymore. In fact, now she looked really happy!

"What else did Jack tell you?"

"Mmm..." Violet stalled while she remembered, sitting up straighter now that she knew she wasn't in trouble anymore, "He said he did make all the snow for me. And he said I was very special." She smiled. "Just like you always tell me."

Wherever this persona of Jack Frost had come from, Helen decided she liked Violet's newest imaginary friend. "Well, he sounds like a very nice boy," she put in. Violet nodded with enthusiasm.

"He had to go make snow days in other places, but he'll be back tonight," she supplied. Helen smiled and chuckled, appreciative of her daughter's ingenuity.

"Should we save some supper for him, do you think?" She asked, playing along.

"Maybe. Just in case." And Violet looked to be thinking so seriously about whether Jack Frost would be hungry when he came back to Burgess that Helen had to leave just so she could laugh at the entire situation.

But then she quieted and stepped back from the situation. Okay; an imaginary friend was better than nothing. Helen believed that, for a six-year-old. But she still hoped Tony and Pam would be able to get through to Violet on her first day of school. The last thing she wanted to come out of this was her daughter to isolate herself from real people just because those she created from her imagination were more interesting. It had already started, in fact; she had just seen that minutes ago.

Meanwhile Violet wondered what might be Jack Frost's favorite food. She entertained the idea of sneaking her vegetables out to him, but that didn't sound very nice. Jack Frost was her _friend_. You gave things like cookies and candy to your friends. So maybe she would have to eat the string beans at the table after all. Violet pouted in protest of this unpleasant thought, but she knew by now that it would do her no favors to complain to _Mom_ about it.

The snow still fell down outside and Violet gazed out her window at it. Her first thoughts were actually of those kids who came to her front door. Really, they all had looked like they might be friendly to her. But she had been too excited about meeting Jack Frost – a friend with _superpowers_ was so much better! – to want to pay them any attention. And, she was also scared. The snowball against the window had frightened her, the loud _bam!_ jarring her and nearly making her spill her hot chocolate. _That_ wasn't nice of _them_.

Her shyness was a big part of it, too. Making friends was hard. She really was too scared to try. Sometimes she wished she could vanish, or use her force fields to keep other kids from talking to her. Especially when they liked to come to her in groups. Maybe if just Tony had come to the door she would have tried. But three, including a big kid, was just too much.

So now, especially after Mom had scolded her for it, she felt a little bad about it. But she didn't know how to fix things at the moment.

Perhaps if she saw them again, it would not be so bad.

In the meantime... she did not want to dwell on it. She would play outside in the snow again. She had tried to make a snowman earlier, but the snow would not hold together. So she had settled for a couple of snow angels. Maybe the snow would be better for snowmen, now?

Violet bundled herself up again and went into her back yard. And every so often she looked up for any signs of Jack Frost. He had said he wouldn't be back until nighttime, but she was so eager to see him again she hoped he would turn up very early. One couldn't be sure, right?

–

Jack thickened the ice cover on the lake. With all the cold and snow, it only seemed fair that the kids be able to go ice skating. So far, none of them had tried, but oh, give it time. Someone always came out with skates sooner or later, in this town. Finishing his task, Jack alit toes first on the center of the frozen lake, precisely where he had first emerged 250 years ago. It always felt unreal to come back to this spot, stand here year after year. 250 years saw a _lot_ of change to the town of Burgess, but this lake had not been touched at all. Not expanded, or filled in, or diverted. In all its incarnations, Burgess was built _around_ the lake. Jack couldn't help thinking that had to be significant, if only because _he_ had been born from the lake. But he also knew it was preposterous to think the lake had been preserved for that same reason.

It certainly wasn't because of the Man in the Moon.

Whatever the case, standing here in the center of the lake on a pane of ice, encased by the minty smell of evergreens, grounded him. It seemed to always bring him back to something important. He could remember the through-lines of his life if he stood here, better than he could in other places.

He didn't believe his foiled plan to get Violet to play was the reason he needed to stand there at that moment, but maybe it had a lot to do with it anyway. It usually worked, when he did that. Throw a snowball. Getting all sorts of kids to have fun together was simply one of those things that he _did_. To have it backfire rattled him.

Okay; he screwed up, there. But he would still go back to Violet that night. His failure only made him want to try harder, for her. He felt like she needed him.

(Speak nothing of the turnabout: _he_ needed _her_.)


	5. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo super-sorry for the long delay, you guys. In all senses of the word, I got _swamped_ with school things - tests, papers, more tests and papers, and lab writeups and OMG. I love being a science major, but the formal lab reports are a _pain_...
> 
> ANYWAY, getting back on schedule as much as I can, here, ie. one new chapter every week or so. I have an exam this Friday to study for this week, and then of course there'll be ALL the midterms coming up, not to mention a project for my embryology class that I'll be working on through October and...
> 
> Well, the short version is, updates are probably not going to be every weekend. BUT, like I've said, this is pretty much all written (although I've been working on adding things to the later part of the story and now I've gone and written myself into a corner with that, so, uh, we'll see how that goes). I'll do my best! I haven't forgotten about you!
> 
> Thank you so much again for the comments, bookmarks, kudoseseses, and generally lurking around, and above all for your patience! Please enjoy! <3
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Night came with the snowfall's end. Well over a foot of snow covered the ground, and it was sure to freeze overnight. Violet's elementary school had already called a second snow day. Violet herself glanced repeatedly out the window for a sign of Jack Frost, to her parents' amusement. "Mom, can I have some extra dessert to take to Jack?" she asked.

 _Nice try_ , Helen thought. "Why don't you share yours, Violet? That would mean a lot more to him." Violet thought about it for a moment. There wasn't a way out of this one.

"Okay," she murmured. But that meant _Dash_ would have more dessert than either of them and _that_ didn't seem very fair even if she was being nice. She choked down her vegetables because she wanted to leave the table as soon as possible to wait for Jack. Then Mom fixed a small plate of the leftovers (no vegetables) and bade Violet wait inside until she saw him – it wouldn't be very fun to sit outside in the cold.

"I'll bring your dessert when he comes," she assured.

So Violet waited.

And she waited.

The plate of leftovers next to her grew cold. She could heat it up if Jack wanted her to. After several long, hopeful minutes, Violet grew restless. She wished she could tell time; she liked on TV when characters checked their wristwatches when someone else was running late. In Violet's mind, Jack was taking much too long. But Violet was an extraordinarily patient child when it came to certain things, and it just so happened this was one of those things she could be patient about.

Mom and Daddy cleared the table. Dash had his dessert, and then he started watching TV. Jack had still not come. Violet looked woefully at the plate in front of her, thinking of the dessert she wanted. Once more she scanned the sky out the window as best she could. Mom had turned on the porch light. No sign of Jack in the yard. For a moment Violet thought he might have become invisible to her, too, but that couldn't be right. He _said-_

"Is Jack still not here yet?" Mom asked, settling next to Violet on the couch. Biting her lip, Violet shrugged. Sensing her daughter's disappointment, Helen offered, "Maybe he needed to make snow for someone, last-minute. I'm sure he'll be here soon." And meanwhile she worried that Violet would have her own imaginary friend treat her this way.

This troubled Violet – Jack had said _she_ was Very Special. It seemed _wrong_ that he would put her aside to make snow for someone else who might be Very Special. That made her feel jealous, and jealousy made her feel sick. "I think he can't tell time," she argued, projecting her own inability to make herself feel better. Mom agreed that was a _much_ better reason.

"Do you want your dessert now?" It was getting late; Violet would have a tummyache if it was put off much later. Violet almost shook her head – it _would_ be nice to share it with Jack once he got there – but her love of ice cream won out and she nodded. She would try very hard to leave some for him.

"Wait..." she said when Mom got up, and she rose onto her knees, pressing palms and nose to the glass. A quick dim flicker of white – like Jack's hair! It settled in the middle of the back yard and as it approached the porch light's glow it resolved down into the shape of Jack Frost.

Jack spotted Violet and waved. Grinning, Violet waved back. "He's here, Mom!" Violet cheered excitedly, sliding off the couch and running around to the sliding back door. She pulled it open. "Jack!" she called, breathless in her rush of excitement, "You came back!"

Swinging his staff over his shoulder, Jack grinned back at her and winked. "Of course I did." He skipped up onto the porch and squatted on the mat in front of her. She reached out the door and he carefully took her delicate hand in his; the iciness of his fingers was even more alarming when she could also feel how warm her house was, and Violet wanted to jerk her hand away, but she was too mesmerized by his presence.

"Violet," Mom's voice came from underwater, across a field, so far away, "You're letting the cold in. Why don't you invite Jack inside?" And Jack looked through the window at Helen, who had only the fondest (and yet so sad) eyes for her daughter. Violet followed his gaze, registered her mother's request, and blushed.

"Would you like to come in, Jack?" she asked, gently tugging his hand toward the inside. His smile faltered and she was afraid he'd say "no," but then his face lit up again and he straightened.

"Sure. Thank you." He stepped his bare white feet over the threshold and then spotted the plate of pork roast held sort of in his direction.

"We saved some dinner for you," Helen said, and Jack nearly jumped, wide-eyed gaze at Violet's mother. But her eyes listed at least a foot to his left, closer to the door that Violet was now pushing closed. Despite himself his shoulders slumped. Of course Violet said something to her mother, and of course to _her_ he was just an imaginary friend. Well, he thought consolingly, watching how Violet eagerly requested the ice cream now and please could they eat in her room, she promised they wouldn't spill; grown-ups had never been his area, anyway. What mattered was Violet.

"Do you want this heated up?" Mom asked, holding the dinner plate out again, a good twenty degrees off from Jack. Violet looked embarrassed for her mother's inability to see him. And somehow, that made the situation _funny_.

"It's okay. I don't need to eat," he explained. Violet relayed this information and soon after disappearing into the kitchen, Mom came back with a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate syrup.

"Be _very_ careful," she cautioned, and then, holding the bowl with both hands, Violet led Jack into her room. She closed the door, and settled on the carpeted floor. Jack took in her room properly now – he could only see so much through the blinds on her window, last night. Various stuffed animals crowded the dresser and lined a small bookshelf, but her favorite seemed to be the purplish-grey plush rabbit at her pillow. The fur on the ears was worn from being carried around by them, and the baby-blue bow around its neck had seen better days. But it was obviously well-loved and cared for: from the looks of it, the cross-stitched nose had been redone with at least two different threads. Lines of stitches crossed the legs and body in random places, indicating minor tears that Mom had darned up over the years.

Without invitation Jack sat cross-legged, staff across his lap, in front of Violet, who leaned against a big pillow at the base of her trundle bed. Her bed covers were lavender, posters of ponies already up on the walls. Every bit a little girl's room. He smiled at it.

"Would you like some?" Violet asked, holding the bowl of ice cream out to him. Typically, Jack didn't actually feel any hunger, and hardly ever thought of food. But when he did feel like eating food, he knew by now that he liked sweets. Ice cream with chocolate syrup suited him just fine. Nodding, Jack carefully transferred the bowl into his hands and took a good-sized spoonful of the dessert.

Oh yeah. This was the _good_ stuff. He almost took another bite, but he'd seen how little Violet had been given in the first place. He passed the bowl back. "Thank you," he said once the cool creaminess had slipped down his throat, licking the sweet chocolate taste off his lips. Violet smiled.

"You're welcome." She worked on finishing the ice cream, watching him the entire time with those inquisitive blue eyes. Jack wished he didn't mind her unwavering gaze, but he was so unused to being seen that he quickly felt uncomfortable. He tried to distract himself by reading the titles of the books she had. Most of them were expected for a child her age just learning to read – Dr. Seuss, Dick and Jane, Angus, several Little Golden Books. But then, a Nancy Drew popped out – was Mom going through it with her, or was Violet on chapter books already? He supposed it was possible; she seemed like a bright kid, very discerning...

"I saw your snowman," Jack finally broke the silence. Beaming, he turned back to Violet's absorbed gaze. "I've never seen one that perfect – how did you get his head and body so round?" Indeed, not one flake had been out of place. Violet drew her empty bowl into her chest and fidgeted. She looked to the closed door, where it occurred now to Jack that her mother might be listening in. And it dawned on him for the second time that day. "You know I won't tell. Is it another power that you have?"

Looking relieved that she didn't have to admit it herself, Violet relaxed and nodded, placing the bowl down in front of her and lifting her hands up with the palms out. She screwed up her face for a second and a globe of purplish-blue energy snapped into the air between them. Jack jumped, falling back on a hand, watching the streams of energy flow across the sphere. "What is that?" he asked, in awe. As quickly as it appeared, it crackled out of existence. Violet's features smoothed again.

"Force field," she said, "I used them to make the snowman." Like using a pail to make sandcastles; that wasn't anything to feel sorry for.

"That's great," Jack praised, a smile stretching his mouth, and the little girl's dark eyes brightened. "Very clever."

"Really? You don't think I'm weird?"

"Why would I?" Jack asked, surprised, before he could think. But then he did think...

Jack had seen a _lot_ of weirdness in his time. A six-year-old girl who could turn invisible and project force fields was hardly the worst of it. And just look at _him_. The proper perspective, though, was this little girl was forbidden by law from showing those qualities that made her so "weird" – it had already been hard for child Supers to fit in before that law went into effect. Now all that came of it was child Supers being made to feel like something was _wrong_ with them for having powers. And nothing was wrong with them _at all_ – they were simply _different_.

Jack had seen it all before, played out too many times and often ending in too much grief. Would that he could protect Violet – and all those other children – from that.

"I don't know," Violet responded, bringing his attention back to her. "I thought my powers were bad. Mom says not to use them. Daddy says they make me special. But they both say it wouldn't be good if other kids found out about them."

"...But do other kids think you're weird, anyway?" Jack dared to press. She wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise. And when Violet suddenly looked about to cry he knew – with a horrible pang of guilt – that he'd hit it right on the head.

"They call me a freak because I don't want to play with them," she confirmed, big tears already spilling down her face. "And I'm scared to play with them because I don't want to accidentally use my powers because that would get me in big trouble and we'd have to move again and-" she cut herself off like she'd said too much again. Jack leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Violet," he said in a soft voice, gently squeezing her shoulder, and she calmed a little, big wet eyes trained on his. "You're not a freak. I promise. You're a little different, but different is okay. Different is _great._ Do you understand?"

Not looking like she did, she nodded anyway. She would understand some day, anyway, if she even remembered. But his words nevertheless seemed to comfort her; her tears ceased, and then they were both silent. Jack looked around the room again. "How long can you stay?"

"As long as I want. Hey," he said, leaning and reaching toward the book shelf, "Would you like me to read a story to you? How does that sound?" As if it could be no other way, Violet eagerly reached for the plush rabbit on her bed and hugged it before responding "Yes, please." And laughing at the very idea that he, Jack Frost, was actually going to read a bedtime story to the first child to see and hear him, Jack swept up the air onto Violet's bed, patting the space next to him. Without hesitating, Violet clambered up onto the mattress, but instead of landing next to him she actually settled onto his lap.

Thank the Man in the Moon or whoever cared that Jack didn't have a heart attack right there!

He disguised the long tail end of his shock by shifting to a more comfortable position against the wall, and then he opened the Nancy Drew book he'd picked to the first page. He started to read aloud and Violet settled against his chest, head along his shoulder. Afterward, he would marvel that she didn't seem bothered by how cold he was. Aside from her occasional question about a big word, she was completely silent, and very still.

Eventually her breaths grew long and her little body slackened into him, and Jack realized she was sound asleep, a pleasantly warm weight on his legs, head pillowed in the crook of his neck. Lips curling up into a gentle smile, he put the book down and dared to wrap his arms around her sleeping form in a quick sort of hug. Quickly growing self-conscious – what if she woke up? – he changed the embrace to setting her down to dream the night away, and he tucked the covers around her just like he'd watched mothers do over the years. He made sure the rabbit was securely in her arms before picking up his staff again to leave. It felt awkward to just leave her there without properly saying goodbye. Should he leave a sign that he would return? Rubbing the back of his neck, he cast around the room for... anything. There was a drawing pad on the dresser, and that would do. Picking up the closest marker, he scrawled a message for Violet to find the next morning. Yes, that would do just fine.

A tendril of gold sand gently lit the room and Jack took that as his cue to leave. Before he left, though, he was able to see it form a corporeal image above Violet's closed eyes, and she smiled in her sleep. The image was small, but unmistakable: Jack Frost, and a little girl with long hair, flying side by side.

Unable to contain the warm feeling welling up inside of him, Jack slipped out the door the instant Mom opened it to check in on her daughter. Another moment of distraction saw him out the sliding back door, and he whipped up into the tree with the swing in it. Settling on the branch from where he'd first watched Violet wish for snow, Jack realized everything the past twenty-four hours had brought him.

Floored by it, he peered through the tree branches above to the glow of the Moon, partly obscured by lingering clouds. Heart quickening as he finally dared to believe in all of it, Jack uttered a small word of thanks. "I'm sorry I doubted you."


	6. Be Not Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar apologies for moar delay. Moar school swampage happened.
> 
> I can't believe I'm already 1/4 of the way through my senior year (midterm grades are due 10/21). I thought I had all this time left to figure my life out, you see.
> 
> Anyhoo.
> 
> Thank you all so much for subscribing, kudos-ing, commenting, bookmarking, and generally lurking. You make my day. ^_^
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Violet woke early the next morning, having slept well. Bleary-eyed, she gazed around her dimly-lit room. Her lamp hadn't been turned on...!

Oh.

...Maybe that meant Violet wasn't scared of the dark anymore?

After Jack's smooth, low voice had lulled her to sleep, Violet had dreamed vividly of him – of flying over the oceans by his side. It was effortless to fly with him – she even wanted to try it then and there to see if _that_ was another power she had. But all the times she'd attempted it in the past and the memory of a broken arm stopped her. Jack could fly. She couldn't.

There were no sounds indicating anyone else was awake. Violet wondered what time it was. Stretching, she tumbled out of bed and looked out her window. The snow still piled high. _All for her_. She grinned smugly.

When she walked past her dresser, the drawing pad on top caught her eye – someone else had drawn in it!

The picture was in blue marker: a snowflake inside a hasty circle. Wobbly lines crossed over the snowflake inside the circle – Violet realized it was one of her force fields. Jack Frost must have left this picture for her! And then she spotted the words printed in clear block letters: "I'll come back." When? Tonight? Wide awake, Violet carefully tore the drawing from the pad and placed it on her bed. With a little effort she pulled out the trundle and removed a big shoebox that she kept her special treasures in. The drawing from Jack Frost went right in, no question. Before replacing the lid she studied it a little longer. She wished she could have stayed awake to say goodbye to him. There was no way to know how long he had actually stayed... The Nancy Drew book still sat on her nightstand, but Jack hadn't marked where he stopped. Whenever he had left, though, he had still taken a moment to leave this for her, his own way of saying goodbye for now. And that made her feel really jittery-happy. Like she was special, just as he told her.

Violet trailed her fingers across the picture wistfully, then placed the lid on the shoebox and put it all away again. She left her room and wandered through the still house. It was sort of spooky to be the only one awake, she realized, but she knew there was nothing to fear. Mom or Daddy would be up soon. She turned on the TV for company, though – it was just _too_ quiet. The news covered the snow again. Violet already knew school was canceled, so she wasn't interested. Eventually she found a cartoon she liked, and she watched it until Daddy came yawning into the living room.

"What are you doing up, Vi?" he asked, peering fuzzily at what she was watching. Violet shrugged. "Have you had breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," Violet mumbled.

"Would you like me to make some eggs for you? You can reheat them when you get hungry."

"Okay, Daddy." Daddy shuffled into the kitchen and soon Violet could hear the sounds of eggs cooking. The aroma hit her nose and she almost felt hungry, but eating still did not appeal to her this early in the morning.

But she grew bored of the next cartoon that came on, and by then her tummy started rumbling, so she followed her nose to the still-warm plate of eggs sitting at her spot at the table. Daddy looked up from his newspaper at her, smiled in acknowledgment, took a sip of coffee, and resumed reading. Violet picked up her fork and lifted the first bite to her mouth. Daddy always made good eggs. Her breakfasting passed by in silence, and then Daddy left for work. And then the house was quiet again.

Snow drifted down outside in a calming way. Violet watched it from the couch for a long time. She wondered if Tony and the other kids would walk by her house again. Maybe today she could be brave enough to join them. Somehow staying home all day again seemed very boring even though there was plenty of snow to entertain herself with. She had already made a snowman yesterday, and snow angels. She wanted to try to make an igloo, or maybe even try having a snowball fight. There was a park nearby; maybe Mom could take her there today?

When would Jack come back? What if she was away when he returned? Could he still find her by flying?

While she waited for something to happen, Violet went back into her room and tried to read the Nancy Drew book. She now heard the narration in Jack's voice, not Mom's. She thought she liked it better. But the reading went rather slow – lots of big words that she had to sound out. But she made it through a chapter by herself. Her brain felt tired after that, but she couldn't wait to tell Mom! And Jack! She should tell Jack, too, when he arrived.

Mom was up, drinking coffee and watching the news, just like yesterday, when Violet came out of her room again. But this time, Jack stood in the center of the room, and he swiveled on the spot at the sound of her door. His face brightened at the sight of her and she jumped. "Jack! What are you doing here?"

Helen also started, and turned to see her daughter looking toward the coffee table. Her imaginary friend stayed the night on the couch, perhaps?

Shrugging, Jack tapped his staff emphatically on the carpet. "I said I'd come back, didn't I?"

"I thought you were going to be gone until night again." Violet came closer, glad to see him regardless – that much could be seen from the way her eyes sparkled, alone. Helen briefly reconsidered her steadfast hope that Violet would outgrow her imaginary friends – none of them had ever made her this happy and bright.

"I can visit during the day if I want to. It's more fun, anyway. Hey, do you have ice skates? We should go to the lake today," he suggested, nodding his head toward Mom.

Also nodding, Violet turned fully to face her mother. "Can we, Mom? Can me and Jack go ice skating?"

"Jack and _I_ , Vi. I don't know if the ice will be thick enough."

"It is," Jack cut in, proudly placing his hands on his hips, "I froze the lake over myself."

"Jack says it is, Mom," Violet relayed.

Helen's eyes crinkled in knowing amusement and she hid her smile behind a sip of coffee. Of _course_ Jack would say that. At any rate, the lake was within walking distance, so it would be easy enough to come back home if it turned out "Jack" was wrong. "Yes, of course, dear. I'll take you in a few hours if you're ready."

"When will that be?" Violet asked, already going toward her room to pick out clothes – her skates were still in a yet-to-be-unpacked box of seasonal wear; Mom would have to find them for her.

Mom glanced to the clock, pursing her lips. "How about after lunchtime? That will be around 12:30. Okay?"

That felt like too long to wait, but Violet agreed to it. Now that Jack was here, she knew she wouldn't be too bored. He followed her into her room and watched her rummage through her dresser.

"I found your picture," Violet told him as she pulled out a dark green turtleneck.

"What did you think? I know I'm not very good at drawing..."

"I liked it. It looked really cool. Hey, do you think we can do that?"

"Do what?" Jack asked in confusion, now stepping aside so Violet could search for a pair of jeans. She straightened and held her hands up to suggest her idea.

"Could I hold one of your snowflakes in my force field? Like the picture?"

"Do you want to try it now?" He was already calling frost to his fingertips. The little girl vigorously nodded, hopping in anticipation, and _ooh-_ ing when a perfect, large snowflake materialized over Jack's palm, just like when they'd first met yesterday. The look of concentration came over her face again as a globe of blue energy popped around the snowflake. Jack withdrew his hand and it all remained suspended in the air. Face still scrunched, Violet managed to squint one eye open to see what she had done. She gasped in amazement, and the field snapped apart like a popped bubble, the flake drifting to the floor.

"Oops! Sorry," she mumbled, face flushing before she hid it in her dark hair. Jack chuckled indulgently and pushed a black strand behind her ear.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. That was cool, wasn't it?" he asked, and Violet's cheer came back. "Want to try again?"

She did. A few trials later she managed to look at her feat with both eyes wide open, and Jack applauded her after she broke the force field. "I wish I could show Mom," she mentioned. Doing his level best not to be discouraging, Jack shrugged one shoulder.

"Maybe someday, with your help." Adults were not his area, but it was better than telling her it was useless to ever expect an adult could see him, anyway. Besides, Jack Frost brought everything that adults grew up to hate about winter – snow and ice on the roads, frozen water pipes, ruined rose gardens, reckless children and worries about thin ice and hypothermia. Grownups and parents dreaded winter's threats of snowdrifts and icicles; only kids saw the wonderland.

Jack didn't need Mom to see him. Just Violet. And then, if they were both lucky, her friends. "I don't think she'd be able to see the snowflake."

"Am I _really_ the only person who can see you?" Violet asked, eyes growing big and sad for him – he could barely stand it.

"You're the only one I've met so far," he admitted; he always held onto the possibility that there were more people who believed in him than he thought (he thought: not more than one) and he simply had not encountered any of them. But it was a foolish hope, by now. Other spirits saw him, but humans – children – never did.

" _Why?_ " Her brow tensed with the desire to understand. Jack shifted. Explaining how belief worked couldn't be the best idea for a child so young. But he couldn't think of even a white lie that wouldn't leave him feeling like a traitor to her faith in him.

With a weary shrug, Jack knelt down to her level, locking twin pairs of blue eyes – one young and wondering, the other ancient and yet ageless; both so full of youth and life. "Violet Parr," he began, tasting the words as he spoke them, "I am a spirit – like, a ghost. You know that, right?" After a bit of wide-eyed hesitation, she nodded confirmingly. "Okay. Uhm, how do I explain this..." he thrust a hand through his hair, and particles of frost shuffled out and fell to the carpet where they melted. "When someone doesn't believe in me, doesn't believe that I exist..." he swallowed hard at the sudden lump in his throat but he resisted the urge to shut his eyes away from her, "They can't see me. Violet, you are the only person who can see me because you are the only person who _believes_ in me."

An adult would have let the silence hang.

"What happens if I don't believe in you?"

The question clenched achingly onto his heart like a vise and he had to break away, curl over himself a moment to recover.

"What's the matter?!"

"If you stop believing in me," _**pleaseneverneverstop**_ Jack let out a shaky breath, hand gripping the front of his sweater over his heart so hard the tendons stood out, "then you won't see me anymore. I'll be invisible to you." And the way his voice broke on the last words _killed_ him inside. Violet came closer to put a steady hand on his arm.

"Jack, I will always believe in you. I _promise_."

That did it.

Before he could tamp any of the emotion down Jack felt his face crumple and he buried it in his hands before she could see, bowing forward onto his knees, ducking his head to the floor. The wetness of tears lasted between his palms and his cheeks; they came too quickly for any to freeze. His shoulders hitched on a suppressed sob and Violet was rubbing her little hand over his back like her mother did for her. And she was apologizing for making him sad and he shook his head because no, that's not it at all. "I'm really happy," he insisted, the carpet muffling his voice, "I'm so happy to hear that. You really are very special," he said, hysterical giggles falling loose from his mouth. She stayed next to him, leaning against his shoulder when he came up for air and he didn't even _think_ about the arm he threw around her until after he'd done it. She pressed her head into his collar and he realized they could _hug_ each other, but he stayed put with just the one arm. Her weight against him was so solid and _real_ and he was real _too_ , for the moment, to her; and _Moon,_ it felt amazing. It felt fantastic. He felt incredible.

She hadn't abandoned him. She refused to – promised, even. And she would take that promise very seriously, he knew.

Jack was no longer alone in this world.

And... oh, if only _this_ was how he could make others feel with his snowballs!

"Thank you, Violet," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze, "Thank you _so much_..."

Violet lifted her head and craned her gaze up to him, watching. A few tears still glistened unfallen at his eyes, but his content smile just _radiated_ happiness. "For what?" she asked quietly. He turned his eyes to her, blinked the tears down his cheeks where they crystallized into beads of ice.

"For being you. For believing in me."

_For_ _**saving** _ _me._


	7. Slide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it makes you feel any better, I was bawling at the last chapter, too. I honestly completely forgot I'd written that part and it took me by surprise when I was rereading it and MY FEELINGS.
> 
> I apologize, again, for leaving you hanging for so long. School, and life, and then school again, got very real these past several weeks. Four weeks of classes left to go and then finals and then winterbreak! EEE!
> 
> Hello to my new subscribers, commenters, kudos-ers, bookmarkers, etc. And hello again to those of you who've been here a while. It does my heart good to know y'all like my stuff. :)
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Jack tested the thickness of the ice while Mom helped Violet into her ice skates. Violet had grown in the past year and her skates were almost too small.

Though Jack had given his green light on the frozen lake with confidence, he felt restless about leading Violet onto the ice without taking extra precautions. Something about this lake grounded him, yes; but an implacable anxiety overtook him whenever children trod upon it. If he could stay in just one place for so long, he might take up permanent residence on the shore, guarding all the future Kristi Yamaguchi's and hockey stars of Burgess. All he could do was add layers upon frozen layers, just as well freezing the lake solid. This was all easy enough to hide from Violet's mother; the cold leeched out from the soles of his feet, traveling down through the tightly-packed ice to the first trickles of liquid water, freezing on impact. Only he knew he was doing this out of intense fear. He knew better than anyone what exposure did to a human body; when he could prevent an incident, he did try.

Violet's squeals brought his attentions over; she was trying to stand upright and steady on her skates, and not doing such a great job of it. Her skates were cheap and did not properly brace her ankles – given that she indeed outgrew them quickly, no one could fault her mother for not splurging. A pair of thick woolen socks was balled up in Mom's hands (which were also currently busy keeping younger brother Dash firmly in her lap), and Jack realized that was how they'd managed to get the skates on comfortably enough for one outing.

"Are your feet cold?" Jack asked her; his, of course, were fine, but he was still well aware of the frigid temperature.

"No!" Arms windmilling as she sought her balance, Violet stepped one skated foot, then both onto the snow-dusted ice. Jack held a hand out to her and she steadied herself with it.

"How long has it been since you last went skating?"

"I think I was four," Violet said after some effort remembering. "Do you go skating a lot?" They were closer now and she hung off his arm, feet sliding out from under her. Jack managed to keep her up.

"Yeah. Barefoot." He held up a foot, toes wiggling, for emphasis. She giggled, and then she did slip, and she fell onto her knees.

"Are you alright?" Jack and Mom asked her at the same time.

"Yeah. Jack's going to help me skate; right, Jack?" And even if she hadn't turned those round blue eyes up to him right then, he still couldn't have said "no."

"No problem. Just watch what I do for a sec, okay?" So Violet stayed on her knees, hands in her lap. Jack laid his staff down for her to guard, and spread his arms out like an airplane's wings to show her how to balance. His knees bent slightly to lower his center of gravity and he leaned forward to conserve momentum; then he pushed off the ice with one foot and slid forward. He repeated this motion on the other foot, and alternated again, a slight kick behind him at a small angle. And then he stayed both feet parallel to glide. "So, did you see how I did that?" he asked her after turning and coming back. Violet nodded and pushed to her feet, excited to try. "Go slowly; I'll stay right next to you so you won't fall, okay?"

"Okay..." She spread her arms out like Jack had, though uncertainly; Jack hovered just within her reach. The first attempt to move her foot led to a violent wobble and she flailed for his hand. "Jack...!"

"It's okay!" He caught her and stayed until she found her balance again. "Don't look down." Still holding her hand to reassure her, Jack moved in front of her. "Just look at me." Her eyes fixed obediently on his, and she took several quick breaths, scared and embarrassed. "It's okay. Steady..." Another staggering step and Violet pitched forward. Jack caught her shoulders and pushed her back to standing. "Whoa! Okay; wait and watch me again." This time Violet remained standing.

"This is so _hard_ ," she almost wailed.

"Just keep practicing, Vi," Mom called from the shore over Dash's fussing in her lap; he did not have his own pair of skates, but he still wanted to go onto the ice. Mom wouldn't even dream of it. Unseen by her mother, Violet rolled her eyes.

"It's like learning to ride a bike," Jack agreed. _So I hear_. "You'll get it in no time. See? It's as easy as one," he took a step forward, "two," and another step, "three!" and he coasted forward a few feet. "Now it's your turn."

Gulping in an effort to steel herself, Violet glanced down at her pigeon-toeing feet. _Just look at me._ She liked looking at Jack's eyes; they were so _pretty_. "One," he said, and she kept her gaze on him and dared a shuffling step forward. "That's it! Two..." another unsteady shuffle and she nearly fell again...! "Three!" Jack summoned the Wind to push her forward and her arms circled wildly as it threw her off-kilter. But then she bent her knees and leaned just like Jack had, and she was not falling anymore. She was sliding forward – she was skating! Her laughter broke out over the pond, echoing strangely off the ice yet muted in the cushion of snowfall. Jack's laughter joined it. After she stopped moving, Violet turned and faced him with her biggest grin yet. "I did it! Jack, did you see me? I did it!"

"That was great, Violet!" Mom called, applauding. Violet bounced a little on her skates, until they flew out from under her and she landed on her tailbone. Her cry of pain almost killed the fun, but then she resolved into giggling harder. There had been enough snow padding to prevent any damage.

"Careful, there, Miss Olympics," Jack quipped, rushing over to help her up. Her face was flushed and her eyes glittered brightly, expression the most open he had ever seen her. He pushed a disturbed piece of black hair behind her ear. "Wanna try that again? I'll teach you how to jump another time," he added with a wink. Responding with a less-practiced wink of her own, Violet took his offered hand and they set off together, moving toward the other end of the lake.

Recalling Violet's dream, Jack had to laugh again.

It was _almost_ like flying.

–

Violet wanted to take a break because her toes felt cold. Mom took off the skates and quickly shunted the small feet into the wool socks and snow boots. Then they all had hot chocolate from a thermos. Jack stayed on the lake, swaying a lazy path across the surface. Now and then he'd call a frost pattern onto a rock jutting out along the shallow edges, or onto a nearby tree. He felt Violet's eyes on him the whole time; it made him want to show off. So he made the sheets of frost even more intricate and beautiful, putting more than just his natural touch into it but actually giving it thoughts to shape it. It worked so well to entertain her that he had to stop and marvel at it himself. 250 years did a lot to desensitize him to his own work; it turned out sometimes he needed the wonder of a child right in front of him to remember the absolute _magic_ of what he did.

Pausing in the center of the lake, Jack craned his neck up, searching out the ferns of ice sprawling across the tree trunks and icicled limbs. The glaring sunlight sparkled orange and yellow and pink off the thickest layers, and despite having to squint his eyes against it, he could only think about how surreal and dreamlike it was to stand in a forest of frost that _he_ made. He consciously inhaled the sharp, cold air, scented with pine needles, and the clarity took him aback. In a way he felt he was seeing this lake in the woods of Burgess, Pennsylvania for the first time, even though he'd stood in this same spot for centuries. For a glorious moment he saw the world as he believed a child saw it – all new and wonderful and anything could happen because there _is_ such a thing as magic – just look around!

A snowflake formed over his fingers and Jack stared at it. In a crazy moment he felt like he was on the edge of discovering something vital, an answer that he'd been searching for all this time, that lay right in front of him. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the flake, willing its rotating form to shift and revel the big secret. It pulled _right there_ , at the borders of his mind.

Sounds like children laughing poured into the glen and the secret fell from Jack's thoughts. He looked toward the far hill, nearest the Parr's, to see the pompommed hats of a group of kids rising above its crest. Soon enough the faces of those chattering kids appeared: Brad and Tony and Pam, and also Kate and Greg. At their appearance Violet shrank nervously against her mother, who laid a comforting hand on her hair.

"Don't be afraid, Violet," Jack said after he came over. "I know all these kids. They're all good friends."

That made her look toward the approaching group with some hope. Brad recognized Mom from yesterday and waved. Tony grinned his winning grin and rushed over.

"Hi! Your name's Violet, right?" he asked once he was only a short distance away. "Did you know that's a flower?" She nodded, looking like she had to bite down a smart remark; she must have heard that one a million times already. "Are you ice skating, too?" She couldn't deny the pair of small skates next to her.

"Want to skate with us?" Pam piped up, now also remembering the shy girl who would be in her class. "It's a lot of fun!"

Biting her lip, Violet looked up at Jack for advice. The other kids followed her gaze, but of course they saw only the empty air. Still, Jack felt his chest grow painfully hollow.

"Go ahead," he encouraged her, gesturing toward the children with his staff. "You're gonna be fine." Still nervous, Violet rose from her safe perch by her mother, gathering her skates as she went. Tony's grin returned – really, that boy could charm _anyone_ over with that face – and he led her to the shore where his brother, Kate, and Greg were already at work lacing up their own skates. A pile of snow boots sat nearby, and Violet's and Tony's quickly added to it. Brad took Mom's place helping the too-tight skates back onto Violet's feet, and then all the kids held hands in a chain for the first steps onto the ice. Jack (and Mom) looked on apprehensively; with her "ice-legs" already found, so to speak, Violet did not wobble nearly so much as the other youngsters. Jack smiled to himself, hopeful that this would give her some more confidence. He leaned on his staff as he watched, waving and cheering Violet on whenever she dared a glance back.

Eventually the chain broke up and everyone skated freely. Tony kept in proximity to Violet, and Pam came with him. Brad mostly kept on the sidelines, acting as a supervisor more than anything. Greg, only slightly younger than him, tended to stop and chat before shooting off again. Jack knew Kate to be the wallflower – she flitted amongst the other members of the group, but mainly skated around and between them. After a few minutes, Mom stood with a dozy Dash in her arms and trudged through the snow to converse with Brad. The Wind bore snatches of their conversation to Jack, and it soon became clear that Mom was asking about the school, the town, and most importantly the other kids. She seemed overall pleased with whatever the boy told her. And for that, Jack was glad. He really hoped that the Parr's would stay in Burgess. He knew that he shouldn't hold onto that hope so tightly – they were Supers, after all, and the relocation protocol existed for a reason. But the Parr's really seemed to fit in, here. More importantly, Jack liked them. And Burgess was a pretty quiet place, anyway; there was no way they could run into any trouble here.

–

"Tony and Pam seem like very nice kids, don't they?" Mom said leadingly once they'd left earshot of the lake. Violet hefted her skates over shoulder by the laces. She supposed so. "I think they might be in your new kindergarten class. It'll be nice to know someone already, don't you think?" Violet nodded because she thought maybe she ought to agree. Mom let out a sigh of relief that Jack closely echoed. The Wind picked teasingly at their hair.

"When will I have school again?" Violet asked. Jack frowned, averting his gaze so Violet wouldn't see it as she looked up at her mother. Mom pursed her lips, scanning the snow-blighted landscape.

"Probably tomorrow, if the streets stay cleared."

" _Tomorrow?_ " Violet repeated in shock, "But there's still _so much_!" And she turned those begging eyes at Jack and he had no clue what to say. Moon, he didn't even know what to _do._ Of _course_ he would love to give her another snow day; he could block out school for a whole week or a month if he wanted to. But it was the end of March already; soon it would be too warm to sustain a snowfall. As much power as he had over winter weather, Jack still had to obey the seasons on the macroscopic level. How could he explain that to a six-year-old girl and not splinter her faith in him by doing so?

"It hasn't snowed since this morning, and the snow on the roads is all slush. Schools are only closed if it's not safe to drive, Violet, not based on the amount of snow alone."

"Jack...!" But his troubled expression halted her pleading cold. Her face fell and she looked so _angry_ with him he flinched.

"Violet—"

"Go away!"

"Violet, what's wrong?"

"Jack won't make it snow more."

"I can't always make it snow, Violet." _Why_ did he always have to go ahead and explain things he told himself he shouldn't? "Spring is almost here." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Besides, I'm already pushing it. The Groundhog said six more weeks of winter, right? I'm already on _eight_." Never mind that the Easter Kangaroo would get _especially_ cranky at him if he kept winter going into April. But she didn't need to know that.

"The Groundhog's real, too?"

Mom didn't seem to know what to make of the half-conversation anymore, but at least her daughter was distracted out of her sour mood for now. "What about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and-"

It took all of his effort not to emit the most aggravated of sighs. He _really_ should have just stayed quiet, and now here he was getting overshadowed by the holiday heroes again. Thrusting his fingers into his hair again, Jack nodded curtly. "Yep, they're all real. But they're all busy. I can't introduce you. Sorry." The rest of them could have all the other children in the world to believe in them; Violet Parr was _his_.

And she looked about to insist on meeting Santa and the Easter Bunny, but they all arrived at their front door, and Dash kicked up a fuss about wanting more hot chocolate.

"I have to go, now," Jack began awkwardly, feeling wrong-footed for speaking so casually after an exchange like _that_. "I'll be back again tonight. Same time?" The hand on his staff tightened and he refused to admit it was because of the fear that she would say "no." But rather she shrugged and quietly told him "okay." Which still was not _good_ , but it at least meant she still liked him. That had to be something, right? So Jack straightened and backed up from the door, and Violet lingered to watch him shoot up into the open sky, before her mother called her into the house.


	8. Bracing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - A million apologies for the long delay. School and bereavement and on hold for finals and finishing bereavement happened.
> 
> But that's another story.
> 
> Thank you so much for the new comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. And thank you for your continuing patience.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Violet was not waiting at the living room window. That surprised – and worried – him. Bolstering his confidence as well as he could, Jack tried instead peering for her through her bedroom window. He could just see her through the slats, and he knocked on the glass. Her form jumped, and her shadow moved closer. The blinds parted to reveal her blue eyes looking out of her pale round face, and Jack waved sheepishly. Violet ran out of the room, and Jack met her at the sliding back door. "You're late again," she told him haughtily. Jack held his hands up in surrender, staff nestled in the crook of his elbow.

"Hey, I don't wear a watch. I lose track of time. Okay?" He suffered her disapproving glare for another few seconds before she let him in. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"Maybe." Which in child-speak meant "yes." Blowing air out the corner of his mouth, Jack ruffled his hair uncomfortably.

"Can we talk about it?"

She shrugged. But she let him follow her into her room again. By now her parents took her new "imaginary friend" in stride – although they had to admit that their daughter's interactions with Jack Frost were remarkably more sophisticated than with past friends. Was she simply growing more aware of how people actually interacted and drawing from that? They liked to think of their daughter being so bright, at least.

Once in her room, Jack leaned his staff against the wall and seated himself cross-legged on the carpeted floor, hands resting on his knees. Violet didn't know it, but this was how anyone could tell Jack was about to be very serious. All that she did was sit in the same position before him, watching him with a passively blank stare.

"Violet," Jack began, holding his gaze steady on her, "You know about the seasons, right? How spring, summer, fall, and winter all happen in the same order, and they each have their own time of year?" He sighed again and offered his most apologetic face. "I can't do anything about that. I'm not allowed to have it be winter all the time."

She leaned forward and leveled her gaze at him, hair falling black over one eye. "You said I was special. You made it snow for me." Her disappointment hung thick in the air.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. And I did make it snow for you."

"So why won't you keep it snowing?"

"I just told you, Violet: I _can't_. Remember what I said about the Groundhog? He's the only one with any real say about when spring will arrive. I shouldn't have made it snow at all, really. He's probably real mad at me right now."

" _Why_ did you make the snow if you're not allowed now?"

Didn't she understand? How could he explain it to her?

He had to think back two nights, the evening after he'd watched the new family move in, and the little girl stared past him to the stars and wished for lots and lots of snow. Kids asked for snow all the time; he usually brought some if he happened to overhear, even if it was getting out of season. The more kids were exposed to winter, Jack persisted in hoping, the more opportunities he had for someone to notice him. For the most part, he'd long ago been conditioned out of letting belief be the sole reason he granted wishes for snow, but it _always_ nudged at the back of his mind that _this_ might be the snow day that did it.

And finally, with little Violet Parr, it _worked_.

Sometimes, though, Jack simply didn't care about the rules.

Violet caught the way his lip turned up in a smirk. "Jack? Were you being _naughty?"_ Apparently the word had managed to stick in her head since Christmastime. Jack laughed out loud.

"I've been on that list for _decades_ ," he told her, and her eyes went so big, like she couldn't tell if she should be horrified or impressed. He only laughed more raucously before forcing himself to calm back down. "I guess I was. But I also wanted to make you happy." And her cheeks turned red and she bowed her head to blush behind her long hair. "You looked lonely and sad, to me. I hoped that making it snow would help. Did it?" One eye peeked through her dark hair at him and she shyly returned his grin.

"Yeah, it did." And without warning she flung herself at him, hugging around his neck.

"Whoa!" Jack braced himself on a hand thrown behind him. "What's this for?"

"For being a good friend," she said, and warmth spread through him like a healing salve. His heart quickened, that she considered him a friend! "You're always really nice to me, Jack. I _like_ you."

He was going to _melt_ if she kept that up. Jack returned her hug with one arm, the other still keeping him upright, unsure what to say at first. "So you forgive me for letting spring happen, now?"

"Maybe," she giggled. It still meant "yes." She pushed off his chest and now regarded him with some concern. "Does that mean you have to go forever?"

"Not _forever_ ," Jack reassured her, "Just until next winter. That's not such a long time."

Her lips pouted. To a child so young as Violet, a year did seem close enough to forever. Jack knew it would pass for him like the blink of an eye.

"You'll see me again before you know it."

Violet gasped in a sudden panic. "Are you leaving _now_?"

"I don't have to. But I can't stay in Burgess. Other parts of the world will have their winter soon." Ah, of course; Violet didn't know the southern hemisphere's seasons ran opposite. He tried to explain it, but it was a hard concept for her to grasp right now. So he left it. "I don't like hot weather," he finally said, which was true and easy for her to accept.

"So you migrate like ducks?" Violet blurted after taking it all in.

"Ha! Yeah, I guess I do. I just go someplace colder. Very good," he praised. She looked pleased with herself for her successful analogy. "So now you believe that I'll come back, right? I don't have to convince you anymore?" Giggling, she nodded and resumed hugging him.

"I'll miss you," she protested more than stated; even though she understood, she clearly didn't like the situation any better for it. Jack squeezed her tightly with both arms, now, resting his cheek against her long, soft hair.

"I'll miss you, too." _I'll miss_ _ **this**_ _._ Being seen, being heard, being touched, held. Being liked and missed – _loved_ , even? How could he sustain himself on only two days of precious belief, until he came back to her again so many months from now? His chest and throat tightened at the same time. The thought of living on without contact with belief again so quickly, set such a tremor down his spine that his breath hitched. Violet didn't seem to notice it.

Jack tried to take a deep inhale and slow exhale. He'd already gone 250 years without. Surely, a year – and not even a full one – was just a drop in the ocean by comparison?

"Jack," Violet said, looking up at him again, "could we read more Nancy Drew?"

Grateful for the distraction from his frantic thoughts, Jack broke into a fond grin. "I'd love to." He rose and carried them both to her bed, sweeping the book up from the nightstand.

"I read the first chapter all by myself, this morning!" Violet boasted as she settled to a comfortable position in his lap.

"You did?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Wow; that's a big accomplishment. Maybe you can even read the whole book by yourself, huh?"

She squirmed bashfully. "It's faster if you or Mom reads it, though." Jack was already searching the book for where he'd left off. Neither of them knew where Violet had fallen asleep last night.

"But you'll get faster, too, the more you read," he put in. Violet shrugged, apparently set on still being read to at bedtime for at least a long while. She was fortunate to have people around to teach her; Jack had to teach himself how to read, basically. Infiltrating elementary school classrooms had helped for the basics, but they often had too many things going on and he would get distracted (or, he would create distractions of his own when he found the lessons too structured). At length he found the correct page and continued from where he'd stopped the previous night. He and Violet agreed that she could reread the book herself to fill in missing parts. Unlike last night, Violet stayed awake until Jack's voice grew tired, and he told her they ought to stop. She protested; stopping meant Jack Frost would have to leave!

"I don't want you to go!" she wailed into his sweatshirt.

"I don't want to go, either," he tried to comfort her, his hand on her back. "But you'll be okay without me. You made friends today, didn't you? I know Tony likes you. And Kate's favorite color is purple."

"Just like me! But Jack..." she bit her lip, chewed on it and her brow was so knotted up it looked painful.

So many emotions swirled around in her that Violet couldn't find the words for what she felt, what she _really_ needed to say. She probably didn't even _know_ the words, yet.

Jack waited for her to finish, but she crawled out of his lap and sat on the mattress, looking every bit like she'd forced herself to do it. Feeling like he was betraying her, Jack slid off the bed to fetch his staff. Violet opened her bedroom door and walked beside him to the back door. Jack stepped outside into the yard, barely visible despite the porch light's glow. He turned to face her, committing her face to memory.

"Jack," Violet called, running onto the porch, tears in her eyes, "Please don't forget about me!"

How could he? How could he _possibly_ -?

"Never."

"Promise?"

He beamed at her. "I promise. This isn't 'goodbye,'" he added, "This is 'see you soon.' Right?"

"Right," she affirmed, brightening a little. A playful Wind buffeted her hair around her face the same instant another lifted Jack Frost into the air. He rocketed up to the sky, whooping with exhilaration like when she'd first said his name. Violet listened for his echoes until they faded, and then closed the door behind her. Mom watched her from the couch, and noticed how upset she looked.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Tears crashed down Violet's face. "Jack had to go away. He won't be back until next winter." Instantly Mom was cuddling her close, smoothing her hair while she cried.

"Shh, it's alright," she soothed, "You're going to miss him a lot, huh?"

At the violent nod, Helen could only hold tighter. She'd never had to console her daughter about an _imaginary_ friend before – her imaginary friends had never done this to her! The frown across her face was the only indication of thoughts that pained her... But for now Violet's face was so soaked from her grief, and _that_ was what she needed to deal with.

"Jack _will_ be back, Violet. You just have to be patient. It's like when you have to wait for your birthday or Christmas. You can do it." Violet's sniffles grew a little quieter. Helen wiped her reddened eyes. "That's my girl. Now, I think you need to get a good night's sleep, don't you? Why don't we get you into a bath with _lots_ of bubbles?"

"...Okay."

Violet kept looking out the windows. She didn't want to believe that she wouldn't see Jack Frost again for such a _long_ time. But he never came to her yard, her window, again.

–

She went to her new kindergarten the next morning, and the teacher placed her next to Kate. Violet shared her cookies with Kate, and the girls soon became fast friends. Tony teased Violet because he thought she was pretty, but Violet wouldn't understand this until years later.

The season progressed and Violet waited up for the Easter Bunny, but she fell asleep before he ever made it to Burgess. Her first baby teeth fell out like the tree blossoms from their branches, but she never caught a glimpse of the Tooth Fairy even though she woke up with a shiny nickel under her pillow every time.

Whenever she cleaned her room, she took out the shoebox with Jack's drawing safely nestled inside. She would read the message over and over, always hearing it in his voice.

 _I'll come back_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not fair that you get such a short chapter after so long a wait, I agree...
> 
> I should tell you guys now, that I've never quite been entirely happy with the story after this point - mostly pacing issues, among other things, from my impatience to finish the story. I was hoping to fix that this past semester, but I just never had the time after midway through September. And with so many life things happening I just didn't feel up to it this break. I have a friend visiting and staying with me all of next week, so I don't know how much time I'll be able to spend on this. I'll do my best to get some things going during the time I have left before school starts again; and I predict I'll have at least through the end of January before things get really crazy, but at the same time I'm looking at the downhill rush to graduation so I don't even know what to expect from the school side of things alone (not even thinking about work things and internships and becoming an adult more than I have to, right now).
> 
> Anyway, I'm getting off-topic.
> 
> You guys have been wonderful with my delays, and I'm grateful that you're still here. All I ask is to impose on your patience a little more while I figure the rest of this story out between senior year and life and other madness. I hope you'll find that it's worth the wait.


	9. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> I resolve to always have timely updates. Except for when I don't. XD
> 
> Hmmmmm nervous as all getout about these next couple chapters. Not super-pleased with them compared to the beginning and ending chapters, as I believe I already said. I'm happier with them now than I was at the last update, but...
> 
> May I ask you to please bear with me and that if these chapters are not up to par, I promise they'll get better?
> 
> Cos you guys have been lovely as I've said a million times, and I'd be sad to lose your readership over a couple flat chapters. (Of course, whether you do stick around is absolutely your choice and I won't judge you for leaving. Well, maybe a little, cos of course my stuff is the best stuff you've ever read. ;P )
> 
> On that note, many thanks for comments, kudos, etc. I apologize that I haven't been very good about responding to comments the past couple chapters -- the emails are still crowding my inbox! Know that I read and appreciate every single one, even if I neglect responding to them.
> 
> Okay; that's enough. Let's get on with it, shall we?
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

The southern winter crawled by at an agonizing rate, and Jack marveled that he managed to wait out the year to that November – he would have liked October, but Samhain had happened once too often in the past, for Jack to be thrilled about jumping the gun before All Saint's Day.

Jack visited the lake first; a sheet of ice spread out from his feet the moment his toes touched the water. Nothing new, but it still elicited an eager grin; just like when he first rose out of the water 251 years ago. His bitterness toward the Man in the Moon often abated a little whenever he remembered that night. The Moon had taken his first fears away just by looking on him; and he gave him his _name_ , after all. There was nothing _bad_ about that, really.

Jack looked up to the clean sky, a deep autumn blue. The sun glared down, bouncing off the expanding ice. It felt warm on his skin – the comforting sort that radiated in the absence of a chill breeze. This sort of sun Jack didn't particularly mind. But he thought he might call in some cloud cover before long.

A thin, splintery pane of ice now coated the lake surface. Satisfied with that as the first hint of winter's arrival, Jack jumped onto the Wind again and it carried him to a house they remembered well. Chuckling in his excited anticipation – he couldn't wait to see how Violet Parr had grown! – he circled the whole property before alighting in the back yard. He remembered which window was Violet's on sight and snuck up on it; he wanted to catch her by surprise as much as possible – she had to be _expecting_ him somewhere in the back of her mind, after all. Once he reached the window he surreptitiously peeked into the spaces between the drawn blinds – and froze on the spot.

Band posters covered the walls and a tall, gangly boy with russet hair tuned a bass guitar with finesse.

Jack stumbled away from the window, breath knocked out of him.

Didn't- But- This was the right house! He _knew_ it was. The color was right, the trees in the yard; even the plank swing was still there. Maybe it was just...

He looked again. A younger boy, around ten, had come into the room and set to pestering his big brother.

Heart sinking fast enough to choke, Jack flew to the sliding back door. A petite blonde woman with a careworn face stirred something in a large soup pot. She was close enough he could readily see she had no wedding ring. A single mother. He grimaced. A completely new family to the town of Burgess.

A horrible dampness filled his stomach and he thought he might be sick.

 _Violet's not here_.

His windpipe turned to stone; he gagged on the sensation and frost particles spidered erratically across the window. Pressing a hand into his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in months; there was nothing to bring up. Not since that small spoonful of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup.

"Oh my God," he uttered, eyes panic-wide. Violet was waiting for him, somewhere. He'd promised to come back, and she was waiting for him, and he had _no_ idea where she was or if he'd even be able to find her again.

The continental United States alone had thousands of elementary schools, _millions_ of kids.

(And how could he be sure that they were even still in the country?)

The more his mind raced through all the reasons it was _impossible_ to see her again, the sicker he felt. His breath came faster and more frost spiked out of his fingers.

 _No_! He stamped his staff on the porch and ice bolted over the planks. Jack Frost had gone for _far_ too long without believers to let his first one fall through his fingers so easily.

He leapt to the roof, glaring defiantly at the Moon, though it couldn't be seen. "Where is she?" he demanded. Silence. Jack pounded the tiles. "You tell me where she is, right now!" he screamed so hard his voice cracked. Still, over his heavy breathing, there was nothing. The lump in his throat grew too big to shout anymore and he had to crouch down and cry – just for a minute. And he pleaded, softly and broken as a prayer. "You cannot just give me... give me her for two days and then take her away again. What kind of god are you?" he yelled, standing again. Still the Moon, hidden by daylight, remained impassive to his anguish. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

_Just like always._

Cold fury blasted through him and he steeled his gaze against the Moon now. "Fine, then." He brandished his staff at the sky as if to challenge the Man in the Moon. "If you're not going to tell me, I will find her myself. See if I need you at all. Cos I _don't_." And he turned his back, sliding down onto a breeze that carried him through the streets, gales that took him across counties and swept him over the country.

Everywhere that winter he kept an eye out for every little girl with black hair. But it was never Violet. It just _never_ was.

She seemed to have vanished, _completely_.

–

The seasonals ran on a tight schedule. No one knew that better than the spirits guarding the thresholds between the seasons, the ones who at once governed and were subjected to the wills of the beings on either side.

The clashes between winter and spring, in particular, often turned foul. Beau knew that. He looked up through the ceiling of his subterranean base to the lightening sky. A frown curled around his large front teeth. He wasn't always the famed Punxetawney Phil worshiped on the one day he mattered. He was once as humble a groundhog as any – just digging his tunnels and minding his business.

And then that Frost kid came along and hoo-wee. Manny decided _someone_ needed to keep Aster's ears from working into knots over spring's due dates, and didn't Beau just happen to fit the job?

Couldn't Manny have just paddled the kid and told him he needed to lay off the white stuff starting on such and such a day?

But after swapping yarns with Samhain, well, it turned out _none_ of the seasonal spirits could quite keep a handle on whose turn it was. And again, that Frost kid seemed to be at the center of it.

Oh, the boy was nice enough, Beau conceded. Manny could certainly have done worse. But he was a _kid,_ impulsive and self-centered. He preferred to tease over the rules rather than cooperate. So it came to Beau, that he should decide for Aster's sake (or something) how much time Jack Frost had left to wreak havoc before he needed to pack up for another summer abroad.

Today was the day. Beau disliked still doing this just the one day, but it was better than having to go topside year-round. Poke his head out, be blinded by the sun for a few seconds, go back down where it was dark and decent. Heaving a sigh, he muttered, "Alright, General; let's get this over with."

The surface air hit him with a deep chill and he bristled his fur to trap heat. The sun shone brightly overhead and he gnawed his lip grimly. Aster wouldn't be happy – he never was. And sure enough, when Beau looked down at the rimy grass, he saw his shadow. Something settled unpleasantly in his stomach that felt like a preemptive response to Aster's displeasure. He pushed it down; there was no new curse the rabbit could utter at him. Beau saw his shadow clear as crystal, and that was that.

Although he was technically only on duty one day a year, Beau occasionally peeked out of his tunnel once in a while during the following weeks to make sure his message had been received. Frost usually had a _field day_ if he could irritate Aster with dustings of snow as Easter approached. So when March came into sight and only bitter cold and no more ice than the persistent crust on the ground had appeared at Beau's doorstep, he accepted that it was time to stop ignoring the niggling feeling that something was very _wrong_ with this winter.

Beau found Jack Frost at the edge of Burgess Lake, the frozen water steel-grey and too rough for skating. Snow piled high around them here, but it was far from the enticing powder the young spirit usually brought; it was glassy and unforgivingly hard, more like opaque ice. Beau pierced a bulb of packed snow with a claw. It chipped with a high complaint, like nails on a chalkboard. A pall of dread bristled his fur worse than the ambient cold; this was _Old Man Winter's_ snow – Frost didn't have _anything_ to do with this.

Frost lounged on a fallen half-rotten log, the deteriorating wood encased in glass-smooth ice. He pitched snowballs at nearby trees, their hollow impacts strangely muffled. They seemed completely alone here.

"Kid," Beau cleared his throat. Frost barely jumped. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and craned his neck around. Beau shuffled forward, crossing his forelegs. "Listen; we don't need to have this conversation again, do we? So I'm not listening to anything about how you don't have to obey if you don't want to, because we both know you _need_ to follow the rules." He settled back and rethought his argument. "Look, it doesn't make a lick of difference to me who keeps winter cold. And technically no one's breaking the contract here. But you've never been one to let Old Man Winter have all the fun."

 _That old fogey doesn't even know what fun_ _ **is**_ _,_ Frost should have said. But the kid just jerked one shoulder in a way that could have been a nonverbal response or a mere muscle spasm. "Are you listening to me?" After a long pause, Frost nodded. Beau echoed the movement, discontent eating quickly at his impassive demeanor. As little as he saw the kid, it didn't take a familiar to see that something just wasn't right. "Frost," Beau said slowly, "Have you made _any_ snow this season?" Every time Beau had peered out of his tunnels, he had only ever seen the harsh cold snow of Winter. Never Frost's fine, malleable powder that lent itself so nicely to snowmen and sledding.

Frost only turned away, and that alone said enough. "Well, why not? You sick or something?" Frost twitched. Beau set his jaw and marched up to the young winter sprite sulking on the log. He cleared his throat and rapped on the log irritably, not tall enough to reach the boy's head. "Look, I couldn't care less what you got going on the rest of the year, but right now you've got a job to do, and I know you ain't been doing it. So either tell me and get it off your chest if it'll make you shift, or suck it up and get on with it."

Frost mumbled something. "Didn't catch that. You gonna cooperate, here?"

"I couldn't find… her," Frost said, gesturing uselessly. Maybe he was repeating, or just talking to himself. Didn't matter.

Frowning, Beau set his forepaws on his hips. "I'll bite; who's 'her?'"

"Violet. She… she moved. I couldn't find her…"

Patchy as it was, Beau figured he had enough he could build a decent picture of things from there. "And so now you've given up on life cos you can't find a girl? Geez, kid, you gotta leave the drama at the door; you know the gig don't work like that. You wanna know how long Winter's been chasing after Mother Nature and he still puts in a full season's work?"

"Leave me alone," Frost snapped, rolling off the log onto his feet.

Beau lost his patience. "Forget about her!" Though he looked stunned, even a little hurt at the Groundhog's vehemence, Frost did not flee onto the wind as expected. "Obviously," Beau carried on, "it doesn't do you any good to fixate on how you lost her, _however_ you did that. Cos you know what really happens when you do that? Old Man Winter gets free reign and all the kids know is frozen pipes, power outages, and so many widow-makers Mom and Dad won't let Susie and Billy out to play at all. And then they hate _me_ if I predict six more weeks of winter; _I_ take the fall. And I like to believe you're not as selfish as Bunnymund thinks you are, but don't you dare tempt me to change my mind."

"Thanks for being so understanding; you're a real humanitarian," Jack groused, expression darkening. But at least he wasn't pouting, and maybe that meant he'd get his rear in gear and not throw off the whole calendar again. He'd even twitched at the thought of kids not getting to play in the snow.

"I'm not. I'm the Groundhog. You gonna do your job, now, or what?"

The look the kid threw him was less than respectful, but he nodded shortly and took off on the Wind at last. A few minutes later the smallest bits of cottony snow landed on Beau's fur. The temperature eased just enough to keep the snow from falling as ice. Beau shook out his fur in a little show of self-satisfaction.

"That's more like it," he muttered, making his way back to his tunnel. "Don't let that happen again!" he barked skyward; and he dove back into his cozy underground.

Jack scowled at the admonishment. Beau was kept alive by ancient beliefs and tradition. There were places where _adult_ statisticians ran analyses of the Groundhog's accuracy. Adults _continued_ believing in the viability of his predictions, not merely children. The Groundhog had freaking _tenure_. If he lost a believer now and then it barely made a dent in his vast reservoir of devotees.

Nope; Beau couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. None of _them_ would.

Jack continued to scatter snowflakes over the Eastern United States. To show Beau that _yes_ , Jack Frost knew the natural order. But his heart wasn't in it at all. He preferred the solitude of his lake, right now. The Wind had no appeal in itself, much less soaring upon it. No meaningful laughter found its way out of his throat and he could barely find energy to join the children in their play. With belief gone as easily as it had come, somehow nothing felt right at all.

With a fine layer of sparkling snow finally settled over much of the continent, Jack halted. He couldn't help keeping an eye for little Violet Parr the entire time, as hopeless ( _pointless_ ) as the exercise had proven to be. Force of habit. Last dregs of a foolish hope.

"She's _gone_ , Jack," he hissed at himself for not the first time that year. He dropped into a powdery forest clearing. Night had fallen and the Moon cast a haunting silver light upon him where he stood. The scant snow glittered around him on the grass and the tree branches. He felt watched and he cast jaded eyes up to the Moon. "What's the big idea? Can't you let me be all alone in peace?"

No answer, of course. As always, talking to the Moon was like talking to a wall. "Send the Groundhog to bully me, will you?" He tamped the ground with the butt of his staff. Snow packed into almost-ice under the driving blows. Like Winter's. Jack grimaced harder. "She's gone," he solemnly admitted aloud, with the most resignation he had ever allowed in voicing the thought – the reality. What he expected in response, he had no idea. But the Moon's light seemed to soften somehow, as if maybe the Man in the Moon sympathized with Jack Frost's plight after all.

"So fix it, then," he growled, knowing it was for naught. The Man in the Moon couldn't bring Violet back to him any more than Jack could make another child see him…

"Fine. Okay." Jack faced the Moon directly, for the first time in months. "I get it. Jack Frost can't have nice things. Next time, just tell me directly instead of screwing me over like this, okay?" It wasn't worth waiting for any reply, so he just spun and took off for Europe. Forget Violet Parr, the crueler parts of his mind ordered. She's gone forever. You had your chance and you blew it; this is your cross. So suck it up, and _carry on_ _._

Fine, then, Jack decided. _I will_.

After winter officially ended in the north and Jack had to fly south again, he stopped once more at his lake and studied his faint reflection in the ice. He looked weary; he actually looked _old_ ; he'd run himself ragged, always insisting despite himself on scouring every elementary school, every neighborhood park, for Violet.

He called an image of her face out of ice particles, to make sure he still remembered it. Looking at it for long, though, made him too sad. The image dissolved the moment he released it. Somehow he thought the Man in the Moon ought to have something to say for himself now, but as always he was quiet. Unhelpful. Uncaring.

Jack refused to give up his search. But he couldn't go on like this for much longer. He was forced to admit he needed to _stop._

Burgess – _lots_ of places – hadn't had a good winter, because of this.

He'd failed the kids.

That hurt almost as much as losing Violet.

Jack didn't want to do that to them again.

He wanted to keep an eye out, still; but he wouldn't _obsess_. Violet was out there somewhere, waiting for him to come back to her.

_"Please don't forget about me!"_

Never. Not for one second, he wouldn't.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things:
> 
> *It felt _way_ too easy to call the Groundhog "Phil." And seeing as we already have a Yeti with the same name, I didn't particularly want to use it. He's called General Beauregard Lee in Georgia, and his accuracy is said to rival if not exceed Punxetawney Phil's. He wasn't in the original draft, but I tried writing a "deleted scene" with him and I liked the character I came up with, so now he's officially in the story (obviously). I think of him as a combination of Mr. Resetti (Animal Crossing) and the GM where I work.
> 
> *Samhain is, if I recall correctly, a Celtic festival that marks the end of the harvest season (fall) and signals the beginning of winter. I've seen Samhain as a character representing the autumn season in other RotG works, but since he really has the one day attributed rather than a whole season, I made him the autumn-winter version of the Groundhog. Because I can.
> 
> *If you're a little lost on Old Man Winter vs. Jack Frost re: winter... Basically, I'm BS-ing. I know I've presented a ridiculously simplified account of how it all works buuuuut it's not terrifically important to the story beyond its face value. BASICALLY, how I tried to present it here: OMW basically brings the winter that _adults_ fear and dread -- power outages, treacherous driving conditions, water damage from melting snow, collapsed roofs, etc. Jack Frost brings winter the way _kids_ see it -- sledding, ice skating, snowball fights, and the perfect snow to do so. They typically work in tandem through the winter, one occasionally having dominance over the other (that's why miserable winters happen for some areas); if Jack's not doing squat, then kids cry. Basically. Like I already said, I know this is stupidly simple; just go with it. It'll be okay.
> 
> THAT said, before I go: my US readers (and other readers) caught in the deep freeze -- PLEASE be safe in this crazy winter weather you're having. Stay warm, stay dry, don't go anywhere that you don't absolutely have to, and always have a buddy and a charged cell phone if you do go anywhere.
> 
> Take care, everyone!


	10. Not For One Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news: School's started again. And I am going to die.
> 
> Good news: Barring some _very_ minor edits that may still need to happen as I proofread before posting, this story is done. In other words, super-long delays aren't happening (or they shouldn't; you have my permission to yell at me if I go more than like two weeks).
> 
> Bad news: Just warning you now - Feelings. Like, ALL of them. (I mean even more than you've been having already.)
> 
> Good news cos I'm just so excited about it: There will very more than likely be a follow-up to this (not necessarily a sequel - I don't think there's enough content but you never know, I could get inspired). Elaborating further would mean spoilers. Sooooo don't you fret. Feelings will get better. Eventually - I have no idea when I'd get to it and I don't even know where I'd start anyway...
> 
> That said - This chapter really didn't want to be written OR edited. But here it is. I hope you like it well enough.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Sometimes over the years that followed, Jack heard snatches of conversation about curious incidents that from long experience he knew had to be Super-related. He always tried to track down the sites of these incidents, but by the time he got anywhere it was always too late. Nothing definitive ever came up, either. No force fields or invisible little girls. The Parr's were a family of ghosts.

The more the seasons – and the years – went by, the further Jack's hopes fell. The longer he took to find Violet, the more likely it became that _she_ might forget _him_. That thought always brought a bone-deep fear to him. He knew the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and the rest dealt with losing believers all the time, but they always had more children coming in to make up for it. Jack had only had _one_ believer and now he was in real danger of losing her. He could never cope with that.

So he clung recklessly to the hope that even if it took another ten years, she would still believe in him when he saw her again. She _had_ to. Jack didn't want to face the alternative. He had no idea how he could ever handle it.

He wrapped up yet another fruitless winter, and moved on.

–

It was fully April. Jack didn't intend to do much here, but he didn't want to go south again just yet. Washington was still chilly enough that he was comfortable, so he flitted amongst Silverdale and Olympia, preferring the Sound and Peninsula to the Basin east of the Cascades. A random dusting of snow south of the capital stirred up the farm kids, and he laughed and had a splattery snowball fight with them before it grew dark. And he drifted to the local tavern to listen in on the radio and the old fogies talking about how America's youth was going insane.

"Did you hear about this thing in New York City?" an older gentleman said, slapping the newspaper in front of him.

"What's that?"

"This Omnidroid thing." Jack paused at the odd word. An inebriated college-aged boy stumbled through him; he barely flinched. "Seems a bunch of Supers came in and 'saved the city from certain destruction.'"

"Imagine that: Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl getting in the family way. Is that Frozone, too?"

Jack stilled again, an old urgency making his hair stand on end. That was a name he hadn't thought about in a long time, but for once he was sure it was _important_. He whisked over to the table, staring over the men's shoulders at the grainy photograph. It was a bit of a wide shot, but... Elastigirl looked more familiar to him now than she should have.

She and Mr. Incredible were flanked by two _kids_ , a dark-haired girl who'd evidently grown a lot in a short amount of time, and her blond brother on the eve of adolescence.

There was a strange tightness in Jack's head, like he should _know_ something about the people in this photograph.

He took another look at Elastigirl and his only thought was _Mom_. But that made no sense, because he-

_::Do you know Frozone?::_

The question ghosted from the depths of his memory on a little girl's voice, and suddenly everything went from running too slow to racing faster than he could keep up.

The daughter in the photograph – that _had_ to be her!

And it had really been that long – Violet was in her teens, now. Jack leaned forward to skim the article for details, but then the page turned. He growled in frustration and iced the top of the man's drink.

New York.

That was a start. He could get there in just a couple of hours. Maybe they would all still be talking about it and he would hear something about where all these Supers lived. Unlikely. But maybe.

Maybe was just as good as a "yes."

A new flame of resolve burning in him, Jack rushed outside, the Wind catching him up before the door had even clinked shut behind him.

As he flew, Jack tried to concentrate on the future meeting, everything he wanted from it. He tried to ignore the past eight years and what that could mean. No matter what, he wanted the last eight winters not to matter; he wanted him and Violet to pick up from where they'd left off – she would just be older, that's all. She would still be _Violet_ on the inside, the little girl who believed in wishes on stars and lonely frost spirits. For how irrational the hope was, Jack held onto it strongly just as he had all this time. He _needed_ that little girl to still exist. (If he found Violet and she was _completely_ different, could he even reconcile the change?)

New York City ran up below him in the pre-dawn light. Lights clustered on Broadway, Times Square. He knew this city well. Didn't have a clue where to begin looking. A newsstand was a good start.

It was easy enough to have the Wind gust down the street and dislodge the papers. The one he picked up still covered the Omnidroid, but this had more to say on the issue of Supers being allowed to come out of hiding vis–à–vis Frozone and the family group dubbed "the Incredibles." Jack scoured the articles for clues where to find any of them.

He kicked himself now for not keeping better tabs on Frozone – Lucius – when the boy was growing up. If any kid could believe in him, he would have thought a child Super with similar abilities could buy a being who painted frost on the windows. It would help to know where he was now.

The thing about secret identities, though: the secret wasn't widely shared.

At a loss, Jack dropped the paper in a wastebasket and loitered on the street corner, hand fisted in his pocket. The most he could hope for was Lady Luck to smile on him for a change.

The Man in the Moon could suck it.

Jack thrust his hands into his hair, wracking his memory for _anything_ he could possibly use as a lead. Nothing came to him. His heart raced more and suddenly he couldn't think at all.

There was the possibility that Violet's family needed to move again. If that was the case, he didn't have much time before he lost track of them again.

 _Why_ did he have to be invisible? Things would be so much easier if he could just _ask_ someone...

A tiny thought of the Guardians flickered in the corner of his mind. He batted it away like a gnat. Why should they do anything for _him_? The most he'd ever done was blow them off for being too serious – not behavior that inspired favors down the line.

Besides, that felt like bringing too many people to the party. Violet had always belonged to him, in his mind. Maybe she had believed in the others, but _he_ was the only one he wanted her to see. That was final.

"Argh," he grated out deadpan. The streets filled with people as rush-hour approached. The longer he stood there and over-thought it, the more impossible it seemed. Thousands upon thousands of people lived in the city alone, and low-quality pictures of people in masks helped only so much. Jack wasn't good at tracking people, following trails of clues.

He _really_ didn't want to bring the Guardians into this, but...

Hold on.

A tall, lean black man hailing a taxi on the opposite corner moved in such a distinct way it grabbed Jack's attention before he even realized it. The way he swirled his fingers around while talking to the taxi driver stuck out at him, but he rather recognized it on a little boy in suburban Minneapolis about to show off to his friends.

 _Louie Best..._ But his momma called him _Lucius!_

It popped into his head like a streetlight bursting.

"Are you serious?" Jack blurted, directing it skyward, or wherever Lady Luck lived; she'd all but kissed him on the mouth! An unshakeable grin snapped across his face and he tailed the cab easily, continuing to follow Lucius the rest of the day – to the grocery store, to his apartment, cooking dinner with his wife.

After dinner, Lucius drove into the suburbs, parking at the end of a freshly-charred driveway. Jack wondered at it; but the man who answered the doorbell was unmistakably Mr. Incredible under the sport coat and tie and the ash was forgotten.

Jack nearly fell out of the Wind, heart thrumming. Just like that, he'd done it?

…He'd really done it!

_He'd_ _**found** _ _her!_

Jack rushed to the door, halted on the welcome mat.

There she was.

Black hair past her shoulders, bowed over a teen magazine, back to him.

And now he couldn't do it; he couldn't go into the house, tap her shoulder, and ask if she'd missed him. Despite the number of times he'd pored over it that way in his imagination, it really was not that simple.

The front door closed between them.

He wanted her alone. That would be best. They wouldn't be disturbed.

He would wait until she retired to her room.

Jack backed away, unsure if he bounced with excitement or quivered with nerves. Every inch ached, but he could deal with this. Waiting a few more hours, however long it took. She was worth it.

But he didn't even have to wait ten minutes. Violet rose from the couch, said something to her mother, and left for the far side of the house. Jack bounded over the roof to the back yard, tracking her through the windows until she came to her bedroom. Dark curtains veiled the windows but he could see her with the remaining sunlight. Probably she couldn't see him the same way.

Smirking, Jack formed a snowball and chucked it hard at the window. Violet's silhouette jumped, and in seconds her face appeared between the parted curtains.

Jack laughed and waved, spreading his arms out as if to say "Ta-da!"

The elation he expected on her face never came. Violet quickly scanned the yard, then left. Jack dropped his arms. She just stayed in her room. He hurled another snowball, loose flakes splattering across the glass. Violet came to the window again, this time looking angry.

Her eyes never landed on him.

Despair slicked down his spine like ice-water.

She didn't see him.

_Violet didn't see him._

His throat swelled and Jack crumpled to the ground, staff falling away from him, gripping his chest.

If Violet couldn't see him anymore, that... that meant –

He clamped his eyes shut, stoppered his ears as if he could block out his own thoughts.

– Violet didn't _believe_ in him.

A pained sound, like a deer struck by a car, grated out of his throat. _How?_ How could she stop believing, how could she _forget?_ Him, _them?_ He didn't even know how he had her belief the first time. She had merely looked at him and said his name. Nothing magical about it. And she seemed immune to his magic now...

Maybe he was too late...

 _No_ , a little voice said, stubbornly. He had spent too much effort in futile scouting to just throw in the towel over a little setback like this. People stopped believing in things only to reclaim that belief later all the time, right? Certainly that was common enough Jack could hope for it here?

Opening his eyes, he looked up at the curtained windows. At the snow cast over the glass, that _he_ made. He was still real; he was still _here_. All he had to do was remind Violet that he wasn't just an expression after all. Somehow. He frowned, jaw set. Jack had no clue where to start; only what he had been doing for 260 years – not that any of that had worked.

Rather, it hadn't worked on children who never believed from the start. Violet Parr, though... That seed of belief had been planted in her already. Maybe it hadn't sprouted in years, but it was still there; dormant, waiting for the right kind of sunlight and nurturing spring to coax it back out of the ground.

Cautiously, Jack let a hopeful little smile pull at his mouth. Things weren't so lost after all. The whole situation could still be turned around. He just needed to get a little creative, change his tactics, _adapt_. Violet wasn't a child anymore; she simply wasn't so receptive to a snowball from the blue, was all. A teenager with all the internal mess that implied needed more than a child's pastime to restore her faith in anything. And as painful and troubling as that realization was, Jack took comfort in it because at least now he had a place to _start_.

Straightening to his feet and picking up his staff, Jack walked up to the window and peered in as well as he could. Violet sat at her desk, posture bent; she was writing something. Homework, or journaling – Jack couldn't tell from here. He craned his neck to see as much of her room as possible. The walls were white; the bedspread a stark black-and-white paisley interspersed with florals. Books still cluttered her bookshelf, and a few posters of boy bands embellished the walls.

The typical adolescent girl, Jack couldn't help thinking – buried in music and her own thoughts. He would have to follow her around for at least a day or two to get a fuller picture, though. With this limited view, Violet was still the six-year-old wallflower to him – but eight years had gone by, and that was plenty of time for a young girl to change.

Touching a corner of the window pane, Jack spread a thin sheen of frost from his finger for just a second, listening to the light crackling as it fanned out several inches from its origin. Jack didn't cover the whole window, but he left enough as a hint. Maybe it would melt before Violet could see it, but it made him feel better to leave a token behind. His eyes fixed on her dark head on the opposite side from her window. Lifting his hand away from the glass, he leaned closer and whispered, "I'll come back." His breath left no fog on the window. Backing away, he bid the Wind carry him up. He would find other places to wait out the night. And then he would get her belief back to him, whatever it took.

–

Jack followed her from the door that morning to the waiting school bus. He flew up and perched on top of the bus, hooking his fingers into the soldered join behind the front escape hatch, with the crook of the staff curled securely over his shoulder – more fun to ride on the roof. Snow drifted down midway through the ride, continuing to fall in tiny flakes after the bus pulled in front of the local junior high school. Jack leaned over the door while the students filed out until he spotted Violet. Quiet as snowfall he floated down to walk at the side of her, noting her scarlet headband. He wondered if she was still so shy anymore after all – whether she was beyond taking comfort in private fantasies like a winter spirit named Jack Frost. He guided a snowflake onto the tip of her nose.

Violet discussed annoying younger siblings with a friend until the warning bell rang for first period. Jack followed her inside the building, tracking her to her chemistry class. He kept the snow going, knowing at this point classes couldn't be cancelled, and it was too late in the year for him to really do anything, anyway. He could only do parlor tricks, so to speak, but maybe that would be enough. Gratuitous snowballs certainly did not fit the bill.

Violet ate lunch with a small group, stayed mostly on the sidelines for dodgeball in PE, and carefully threw a small vase together in art class. Jack liked her style; the finished product (ready for its first firing once it had dried, of course) reminded him vaguely of the Sandman's dream factory. He couldn't say _how_ ; but he couldn't accept that it was just coincidence, latching too tightly onto the hope instead. Anything to stave off the curdling doubt in his belly that he could do anything to fix this the way he wanted. If he couldn't get Violet to believe again, that was just the natural order of things; but _sucks_ to the natural order – he defied _anyone_ to try to tell him this wasn't something worth fighting for.

The snowfall intensified as the day wore on. Violet walked down the block with her friend to the arcade and Jack pushed snowflakes toward her at every turn. She seemed to barely notice them at all, chatting as casually with her friend as if her face wasn't getting bombarded. Jack waited impatiently at the window outside, watching her drink a rootbeer float (this time of year?) with her friend and talk about who knew what. He kept painting the window with frost ferns, layer upon layer of them until she was no longer visible through the opaque ice. Her gaze never lingered – his actions once again passed off as a weather phenomenon.

Jack paved the sidewalk with patches of ice, drew swirling ferns on the windows as she passed them by. She only slipped and had to grab her friend's arm to keep her feet under her, and never glanced at his artwork.

Jack grew more frantic, his ice patches haphazardly placed and ferns less refined, the further it sank in that _nothing was working_.

But _something_ had to work eventually; something _needed_ to work. More than anything he needed her to look at him and _see_ that he had been there all along, that he still remembered her, that they were still _friends_.

But she got into her mother's car having never fixed her eyes on him, never saying his name, never giving any indication that Jack Frost still existed as a real person in the back of her mind.

He followed Helen's car home, falling behind as he trailed her to the front door. Still nothing. No glances around even after a last desperate snowflake on her nose, shouting her name just as he had been calling the whole time. It never occurred to her that the myriad minor weather events had a very specific _reason_.

Jack stared at the closed door. He leaned weakly onto the Wind and it carried him to her window without him asking. She sat at her desk, writing, again. Like nothing unusual had happened that day at all.

He fell heavily against his staff when his knees gave without warning. Pain flared into his chest, burning up his neck and he wanted to be sick.

_He'd_ _**lost** _ _her._

…He'd promised never to forget her, and now she'd forgotten about _him_. _Them_. The snow and skating and his ( _ **broken**_ ) promise he'd come back every time.

His head hurt. His chest hurt. Breathing hurt and thinking hurt and the hurt and anger felt too big inside of him. Throat tightening, he tried his snowballs again, and she turned but she didn't come. Nothing. He was nothing.

He wasn't _real_ anymore.

He was _just an_ _ **expression**_ again.

"Why?" he screamed at the Moon, daring now to show his face in the evening light. The sound of his voice scared him. "How could you! All I wanted was... Was it really too much to ask? To _keep_?"

He glared down at the ground, unseeing. Fists clenched, ice sparking out of his staff.

"I _hate_ you," he seethed venomously, rage boiling high. And he was horrified that it wasn't all at the _Moon_ …

Yet he whirled and slapped his palms on the window pane, yelling. "You were supposed to remember me! You liked me; I was your _friend_!" _**I loved you!**_

Her blue eyes stared past him, mouth set in a frown. She was so beautiful and he would never get a chance to tell her that. Heat trailed down to his jaw and Jack realized he was crying, too fast for the tears to freeze. His vision blurred, and Violet's fuzzy image whipped the curtains closed and she walked away. He thumped his fists on the sill, doubling over with his mouth open in a silent roar of anguish. He was too hot and too cold and too stiff and too boneless all at once and the ice swelled inside him like a bomb-

He heaved himself away from the window and launched into the sky, dark clouds already gathering above him. He halted in the middle of it, snow spiraling around him. Tiny crystals danced along his sweater and skin; and the Wind ripped at his hair and clothes, trying to pull him back down.

"I don't care anymore!" he shouted, "I don't care what _anyone_ has to say!" He called more moisture and flakes spun thickly into the air. His agitation spread further and further out. Soon he couldn't even feel the edge of the storm anymore, it stretched so wide. And still the energy roiling inside him felt ready to blast his body apart. If he couldn't pour it all out...

The Wind protested, buffeting him to and fro to jar sense back into him, but it cared too much to just drop him – that would have ended everything. Jack drove on, pushing the limits of his reach. When he at last felt too thin, he gripped the sky and searched to the bottom of the well within him, to the source of the ice. Too much; everything he still felt was too much and he kept saturating the clouds with all of it. His jaw clenched on his scream as the cold and snow and ice ripped out of him like shards of glass; he felt like he was _breaking_ , shattering to pieces and the only cure was _this_.

He commanded _snow_.

_Lots and lots and_ _**lots** _ _of snow._

It bolted down from the clouds. It fell like hail, wiped out his view of the ground in seconds. Over half the continent it came down, drowning light and noise.

Jack's skin felt numb and the Wind begged him to stop it, stop it right now. He didn't listen. There was nothing anyone or anything could do. This was the only option. He _needed_ to do this or else he was certain he would...

Jack grew dizzy. He faltered, and panicking he stretched his fingers out for the edges of the storm to reel it in, but they were too far away. It carried on and on and he knew it would. He felt sick again, _feverish._

He dropped several feet, nearly losing his hold on his staff. Fear gripped his mind and it crippled him. He tried to steel his courage, his strength, climb back up, but he only plummeted faster, Wind keening around him. The world looked darker and darker the closer he came to earth. And then it became pitch black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_"I am so sorry, Jack Frost."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better. Trust me.


	11. The Moon Told Me So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guyyyyyyyyysafeioafjioewjf. \\(^o^)/
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, follows, on and on for days~
> 
> I'm sympathetic to your feels, truly I am. But I'm also glad you're having so many of them. Cos that was my intent. I'm sorry - unless I'm not.
> 
> Have some more feels.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

The Wind broke his fall.

It cradled him and carried him to a secluded wood, laying him gently in a clearing. It fretted at his hair and tugged his shirt, tried to make him stir, but he wouldn't. He shuddered and dreamed in groans for hours. All the Wind could do was list over him in a comforting way, unable to sing or murmur as a mother does a lullaby or a bedtime story. Until Jack Frost woke up, the Wind could only wait, sweep the snowflakes away as they landed.

Help finally came after the sun rose. It bounded from the shadows, rhythmic heavy footfalls approaching the clearing, and the Wind pulled it closer as much as it could.

Tall ears cast long shadows in the sharply-angled light, when shafts of red and lime-green cloud pushed away the grey of early dawn. The Wind let out a quivering breeze despite its gratitude; it knew the animosity Bunnymund held for Jack Frost, but it hoped his immense care for life would overpower any ill regard.

Bunnymund had in fact been hunting for Jack Frost. The winter sprite had teased with snow in early spring before, but rarely on Easter and _never_ with this magnitude. And for no reason whatsoever, it seemed; the worst _he_ had ever done was shoo the tin lid away for distracting him – Bunny didn't have time to babysit when he had to coordinate a planet of egg hunts every year.

Landing at Frost's shoulder, Bunnymund tapped a foot impatiently. The deadhead had gone and shelled North America in snow, and then _fallen asleep_. Not even bothered to hide himself from Bunny's wrath – and oh, wrath had he.

"Oi," he growled, nudging Jack's scalp with a thickly-furred toe, "Oi! Wake up, yah bludger."

Jack groaned and rolled his head, turning onto his side. A pillow of snow right in his face startled him into wakefulness and he bolted upright, blinking in surprise. He gazed at the cold whiteness surrounding him in curious wonder, until his eyes zeroed on Bunny. His mouth flapped emptily in bafflement, and then what little color he had drained completely from his face.

"...It's _Easter_ , isn't it?"

"Too bloody right, it is. Now what gave yah the idea for all this? What, January too predictable anymore?"

"Bunny," Jack tried to say, staggering to his feet, "I-"

"What could _you_ possibly have to say?"

Jack held his arms out helplessly, eyes wide as the horrible truth occurred to him.

"I... I don't know why I did it."

Bunny's ears angled forward, crooking ominously. "You don't know," he repeated in a flat growl.

"I can't-"

"Come off the grass – yah mean yah just canceled a thousand miles of my egg hunts, and yah did it because you _felt_ like it? Stone the flamin' crows..."

Jack's dismay shifted to stinging offense. "That is not what I said; stop putting your kangaroo words in my mouth."

"Yours yer making yourself ain't rightly helping yah out, mate," Bunny returned darkly. The brat had better bally well pull his head in and rack off if he wanted to avoid a rumble.

Jack understood the unspoken threat. It read in the blackening of Bunnymund's eyes, the way the coarse fur stuck out across his shoulders. Bunny towered a foot above him at full height and had more than twice his weight of coiled muscle. If Jack couldn't get away, he would never stand a chance.

The Pooka still stared him down with hard eyes, teeth just bared below his lip. He might have growled like a rottweiler. Jack took a step back.

"Bunny," he dared again when he'd taken a safe number of steps away, "I'm _sorry_. I-"

"Bloody right yah are. Now get the hell out of my sight. I've got _your_ mess to deal with, now." Bunnymund would find a way around this. His googies would just stay fresh in the cold snow; he only needed to bring them to its surface, hide them in bushes instead of on the ground, so the ankle-biters could still find them and have Easter. Maybe. Recovering Easter was the least of _anyone's_ problems right now... The incorrigible little frostbite could count himself lucky if none of the kids lost their belief over this.

Jack watched the Easter Bunny walk away from him, stricken. It really wouldn't come to him; he _couldn't_ remember why he did this. Creating the blizzard was a black spot in his memory. He just woke up here, the Wind echoing in his ears...

An irrepressible loneliness welled inside of him and crushed his lungs under its weight. He didn't understand it. He drowned in it.

Away. He needed to get out. _He couldn't breathe_.

So Jack flew south and he did not stop until he reached the bottom of the earth. And there, he stayed.

Winter happened just fine without him. He only added the _useless_ stuff.

The season didn't need him.

He only got in the way.

Made a mess of _everything._

–

Fell winds howled around him in the blank white terrain. They drowned out his racing thoughts and their cacophony actually _soothed_ him. He let himself go numb to his mind and his roiling emotions. Sitting on an icy outcropping that hung over a jagged chasm, gales blasting in every direction, was the most calming thing he had ever done. So Jack remained crouched on the spit of rock, arms wrapped around his knees, face buried. He didn't cry at the unfair way Bunnymund had treated him; he didn't cry about the lives he _knew_ were lost (because of _him)._ He cried because he just felt so _tired_.

Jack never did blizzards like that. Old Man Winter handled such ghastly things. And Jack always thought blizzards were a thing he shouldn't ever try to do anyway; something about them just didn't sit right in his spirit. They looked too strenuous for anything _he_ wanted to do. So the idea that _he_ , Jack Frost, had gone and made a blizzard stretching over multiple states, worried him – _scared_ him, even. Part of him didn't want to know _why_. What could possibly have driven him to such a state, to create snow to exhaustion, fainting, and then blocking out the entire trauma?

...It _had_ to have been a _trauma_. (A sickly chill rang into his bones.) Otherwise there was just no way. He _had_ to have been out of his mind.

Jack wondered if he would ever know, ever recollect what happened.

Part of him hoped that he never, ever would.

–

"That was a beautiful snowstorm, Jack Frost."

He startled out of a doze, twisting where he sat. A tall shadow loomed several feet behind him. The harsh light must have claimed all his colors such that he only _looked_ shades of grey and black. The phenomenon puzzled Jack, until he saw the glinting gold eyes and understood it wasn't the light; it was _Pitch Black_.

"Go away," he responded gruffly, turning away and curling himself more tightly. A low chuckle just reached him over the wind. Jack tensed in spite of himself.

"Oh, Frost, how I could I possibly? Surely you know who you're talking to?"

Jack didn't answer; maybe if he ignored him, he would go away.

An ice-cold fingertip, sharp like a talon, pierced into the back of his neck. As though he'd just been scruffed like a kitten, Jack froze on the spot. Color drained from his face in _terror_. "Who am I, Jack Frost? You can tell me."

He swallowed hard in an attempt to steady himself. "The Boogeyman."

Pitch hummed approvingly. "That's right. And you know why I've come, don't you?" Jack didn't answer this one; Pitch did not require him to. "I'm attracted to fear, you know. It feeds me, clothes me, makes me feel safe and at home. It's my bread and butter, the roof over my head. My powers run on fear, and I inspire further fear on my own. Such a wonderful life, you see." Finally the cold talon left the nape of Jack's neck, and he microscopically settled.

"So why are you here?" Jack spat before he could stop himself. He felt Pitch still for a moment, behind him.

"For _you_ , Jack Frost."

"You don't want anything to do with me," Jack asserted, finally standing to face the dark man. "I can't do anything right, in case no one's told you."

Pitch smiled in a way that sent chills down Jack's spine. "Let me be the judge of that. I know what I saw," hands clasped behind his back like an appraising instructor, he bent forward until their eyes were level, "and truly, you were _beautiful_." Jack's entire body shrank away in disgust, and before he could think he held his staff before him with both hands, battle-ready. And the Boogeyman leaned back again and _cackled_.

"Oh-ho, do you think I'm in any way scared of _you_? A little snowdrift who's just drained all his power only hours ago? There's nothing you can do to me now, Jack."

Angry slivers of ice spat out the crook of his staff in retaliation; Jack narrowed his eyes. Pitch had _no_ right...

"What else do I know, Jack? Is that what you fear?" Here Pitch smirked. "That was a rhetorical question, of course. I know what _everyone_ fears."

"Shut up," Jack growled, thrusting his staff forward and crouching into a defensive stance, "I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

"Oh, but wouldn't you _love_ to know why you did it?" His eyes glittered like shards of glass. Even more blood drained from Jack's face. "Ever heard of watching a train wreck, Frost? You say you can't bear to know what comes next, but you crave the full story all the same."

"This looks more like petty manipulation than inspiring fear," Jack dismissed in as steady a voice as he could manage. He knew Pitch could see right through it, but he could hardly stand there and take the abuse. He'd had enough of that sort of treatment already, thanks.

Pitch chuckled again, flashing his horrible jagged teeth. What Jack wouldn't give to just smack the grin off his face... "I am merely saying what the Man in the Moon refuses to tell you." His eyes sharpened at the momentary lapse in Jack's guard – but the sprite brought his staff up again with firmer intent in a second. "I'm attracted to fear, Jack; I can't help it. I am like a moth to a flame. And when that blizzard came, all that snow saturated with such lovely fear, like a waking _nightmare –_ how could I possibly have resisted?"

The longer he tried to keep together, the more Jack felt about to fall apart. But he _wouldn't –_ not in front of Pitch Black.

"Naturally, it could only have been you, Jack Frost. Even Winter doesn't pour so much negativity into his work. And such an impressive display, too; I never would have believed _you_ were capable of that." He looked too much like an indulging parent. "And yet, now here we are."

This read _wrong_ ; Jack took a step away. He could just fly away now. But the situation indeed was like a train wreck: part of him wanted so badly to _know_ , that it would seek the answers from a confirmed enemy?

"Whatever you're offering, I'm not interested," Jack said in a low voice. Pitch didn't blink.

"You're _scared_ to know. Quite understandable. Especially when you can't know how you would handle the truth if you didn't like it, is that right?" He outright _leered_ at Jack, and the sky grew darker above them. "After all, I must admit it is such a _delightful_ change from the Jack Frost everyone _thinks_ you are. You're more than just a nipper of noses after all, aren't you?"

"You shut up!" Jack shrieked, blasting ice at Pitch, but just so quickly he vanished. Pitch's cackling laughter echoed in the wind. Circling in place, staff held before him, Jack kept glancing over his shoulders.

"You've _lost_ something, Frost. And I can promise you will never get it back on your own."

Jack jumped and spun around. He only faced the empty canyon.

"That is your one hint, since I am feeling generous this fine day." His voice came from below. Jack leaned carefully over the land spit; Pitch stood on the underside of it, gazing up at Jack. A bolt of ice shot down but Pitch dodged into the shadows again.

"Why give me a _hint_?" Jack murmured, though his mind already swarmed with deeper questions.

"The Man in the Moon will never give you the final answer, Jack Frost. But _I_ will."

"I said _shut up_!" Jack grated out, crouching lower, still scanning around him. Pitch's cackles rang off the glacial walls. It echoed again and again; Jack wanted to stuff his ears, block it out. "Just leave me alone!"

"Fine." Pitch appeared directly behind him and Jack jumped with fright. No longer seeming amused, Pitch's features were close and somber. "Have it your way. For now." It couldn't be called a smile, but the corner of his mouth turned up all the same. "But you will think about it, won't you? You know how to summon me if you change your mind."

At such a close range he couldn't miss; Jack shot more ice, but quicker than he could blink the Boogeyman was gone again. And for good, it seemed; though Jack waited, slowly turning on the spot, he never reappeared.

Shaken, Jack rushed off the outcrop into the Wind, and it carried him up over the stormy clouds into the atmosphere above, until finally the blue sky spread above him. The sunlight glared hot-white off the clouds, and his temporary blindness distracted him long enough from his fear to rein in his thoughts.

Pitch Black knew what had caused the blizzard. Jack didn't.

No instinct told him how to feel about that.

With the way the Boogeyman had lorded the information over him, though... Did Jack Frost _really_ want to know?

_::You've_ _**lost** _ _something::_

But _what_?

(Wasn't he still the same guy even if he'd made a horrible mistake just this once?)

Despite his best efforts, Jack's heart continued to sink. The Wind caressed his hair and neck, and Jack could barely react. All he had was a half-hearted "Take me home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know at least ONE of you saw Bunny coming. I'll be the first to admit I Googled "Aussie slang," found a site, and proceeded to cram in as many Aussie-isms as I could. I think they're all pretty context-explanatory, though it probably nudged a toe into parody. My bad. My apologies to genuine Aussies.
> 
> EDIT 2/8: I would like to extend a shout-out to FFN user LeafeonPrincess for correcting my amateur Aussie. You're a star. :)
> 
> Pitch though. He is surprisingly fun to write I hope it was good for you too. Yowza. I just asked myself, "What would scare the crap out of me?" and, uh, ran with it. (Though I think a 22-year-old woman/mortal fears different things than a 277-year-old boy/winter spirit, but that's just a detail.)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I'll see you again soon!


	12. Never Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh so this chapter is short but at least I like it. Yes?
> 
> Guys, can you believe it's February already? Yikes. *casually braces self for all the Valentines inanity* *denies it's because she's single and none of the cute boys will talk to her even if she was interested in dating again* Bitter? Me? Never. Completely outside my personality range. |D
> 
> ANYWAY. You guys. I keep saying it over and over, but you are amazing. I love you. You make me so happy. I may have had rooibos tea and that's why I'm running off at the mouth (keyboard?) here, but I mean every word. *tosses heart-shaped confetti*
> 
> Onward!
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

If the universe felt like being kind, Jack thought, it could have at least given him a grace period as long as it took the snow to melt.

But he had given up a long time ago on the universe being particularly nice to him about anything. The snow hardly turned to slush in the streets and already every TV and radio broadcasted the numbers. Dead, injured, sickened by damp and mold and below-freezing temperatures. Damage by flooding, collapsed roofs, fallen tree limbs. Jack moved westward to escape the snow, but it followed him like a shadow. Families in Seal Beach, California were glued to coverage of the Easter blizzard in its aftermath as their Reading, Pennsylvania counterparts suffered through it. Jack wanted to ball his fists and pound on every living room window and _scream_ at them all to stop it, stop watching what he had done. Let it die into just another bad dream...

 _A nightmare_. The realization sat ice-cold along his spinal cord and he shuddered convulsively. He'd screwed up; he brought this hell on the continent. _What_ on earth had _happened_? _Why_ couldn't he just _remember_ already?

Jack gnashed his teeth and punched a nearby palm tree, its top lush with verdant green fronds. So unlike the snow-bridled firs in the wake of the blizzard...

Jack retched, doubling over. But he had never felt so _empty_ in his life. Beads of ice fell from his mouth, and that was all.

_Try getting off the Naughty List with_ _**that** _ _crowning his head..._

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, recenter himself, Jack used the trunk of the palm tree to push himself back up. He knew the families in the near houses were watching and praying and discussing about the East Coast. He felt it pressing in on him from all sides – _his fault_. And they didn't know it was him, and that was sort of good. But they attributed it to Old Man Winter and that was _bad_. And if Bunnymund _hated_ him now, surely everyone else did; surely they would want absolutely nothing to do with him, anymore...

And _Pitch Black_ knew, and even worse he knew _why_ …

But Jack Frost didn't want to know. He was too... too scared, too _weak_. He couldn't face it, didn't want to.

Raising his eyes to the clean azure slate above him, he swallowed thickly. The shame kept rising like bile in his throat but he already knew there was nothing to bring up, to resolve the urge to be violently sick. What he wouldn't give now to just _disappear_...

The thought latched hold to him and he all but grinned manically at its simplicity. He had a feeling that _someone_ might look for him; he didn't want to be found. He could hide. His stomach wrung into knots when he realized he'd have to head back east after all, but once he got there... He knew he could remain hidden from sight and seeking, indefinitely, with the Wind on his side. So he squared his shoulders and the Wind carried him up and away. To home again.

–

Landing in Burgess brought no comfort, this time. The snow piled high as ever and tree branches creaked ominously overhead. Jack was only just in time to stop a breaking bough from falling onto a young teen trudging with groceries through the deep snow. It landed just feet behind him. The more Jack looked around, the more he saw rehashings of the same basic story – black windows in the twilight hours, stranded cars, walkways littered with fallen branches. Even front-wheel drive was useless until the sweepers could manage to clear the streets. Burgess wouldn't have power again for _days_...

No laughter rang through the air. No sound of children at all.

Jack felt sick again.

The seriousness of the adults had passed on to the young ones, and now the back yards and park were vacant. Burgess felt so _empty_ without kids tearing around the streets. It felt like a ghost town.

 _I did this_ , Jack thought, falling against a swaying light pole in shock. Somehow he doubted he would ever be able to get over this... _Never_ , in his life... And how the children must be crying in _fear_... Because of _him_. It was too much.

Never again. No matter what. _Never again_.

–

Jack only came out at night during the new moon. For the first time in his life, he did not want a single soul to see him, not even a child.

He always saw auroras of golden sand when he emerged, more than he'd ever encountered in one place. The Sandman, working overtime to comfort the town's children in this darkness. Whenever Jack ventured anywhere his blizzard had touched, he saw the same thing: curtains of dream sand showering down from the inky sky, funneling into blank windows and wrapping around little troubled minds. Watching it all happen, Jack wished he could do so much to help – to make up for what he had done. But the blizzard, the mysteries surrounding it, the fear and the sickening aftermath, had taken all the fun out of snow days. Even making an innocuous snowball felt like handling something toxic. He dropped it like it actually was poison and lurched his feet away from the snow drift, riding on the Wind the rest of the night.

Even after the snow melted, Jack kept to nighttime wandering, staying under cover of total darkness. He brought no more snow of his own, that season. He sensed the shifts in the wind that meant snow falling in the southern hemisphere, but he had nothing to do with it. Old Man Winter, again, maintaining the natural order of things while Jack Frost was AWOL. But nobody seemed to be looking for him. And for once, that was what he wanted.

Eventually Jack just slept. Ordinarily he didn't need to. But waiting for the new moon every month was tedious. By summer, Jack would merely shift his position and close his eyes once more. Seasons happened just fine without him. Winter had it covered, he knew; no one would care, _really_. He wouldn't be missed.

–

"Hey. Hey! Oi, you lazybones, wake up!"

A soft warm something smacked into his face and Jack blinked awake – regretting the blinking immediately at the immense sting. As it turned out, that something had been a clod of dirt, and it had broken all over his eyes and nose.

"Argh! Geez," Jack snarled, rubbing his watering eyes with his sleeve, "What was that for?" Tears working to flush away the rest, Jack blinked and fuzzily managed to spot what – or rather, who – woke him up.

Just visible in the pre-dawn light, a large furry rodent impatiently tapped his hind foot, forelegs crossed over his broad chest.

"'Sit February already?" Jack asked blearily.

"Nope. September," the Groundhog reported, clicking his teeth. Groaning like one who'd accidentally overslept into the afternoon, Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rising stiffly into a sitting position. "Where ya been, kid?"

"What, you miss me? I've been right here." His smile died quickly. He remembered why he'd slept.

"Don't get cute. Frost, you've got some explaining to do, you know. No one's caught hair or flake of you for months. Not since that big ol'-"

"Please don't," Jack interjected, practically whining. The old rodent's black eyes softened.

"Shoot, kid. Didn't mean to mean anything by it. You shocked us. Bunnymund didn't let go of it for ages."

"I said... Just... I don't want to think about it." Sighing, Jack looked away from the Groundhog for shame. He didn't expect Beau to understand any more than Bunny had.

"What even happened there? Hey, you're supposed to listen to _me_ when I figure out how much longer you can do your 'snow days' and ferns on the windows. Don't you think I have a right to know why you thought that whiting out half the continent in _April_ was necessary?" Beau tilted his head when Jack nodded sullenly. "And please tell me at the end that you're not planning on an encore performance. I got a reputation, you know. Kids paint me by numbers, now."

 _Good for you_ , Jack thought dryly. The Groundhog didn't get more than a five-minute spot on the news once a year, and yet children believed in him for deciding how long winter lasted, more than they believed in Jack Frost who actually helped _bring_ that winter to them. He schooled his expression into something more agreeable before fixing his eyes back on the Groundhog, who was a little easier to see now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. "I don't remember why it happened."

"Bull."

"It's the same as I told Bunny, and it's the truth. I honestly can't remember." And somehow his wide blue eyes were just earnest enough that Beau couldn't bring himself to call Jack a liar.

"I don't know how you can forget why you'd do a thing like _that_. How hard'd ya hit your head after you fell?"

Jack winced. "You know about that part?"

The Groundhog merely shrugged. "Kinda hard to miss. The Wind was inconsolable until you finally woke up."

The slightest draft ghosted into the cave, as if to illustrate his point. It brushed Jack's hair from his eyes and he grimaced mournfully.

"I didn't hit my head, though, I don't think. I just... woke up and Bunny was yelling at me about the blizzard. I couldn't even remember making it. I was just really tired and... spacey."

"Spacey?" The Groundhog repeated, the second syllable coming as a whistle through his buckteeth. Jack shrugged, the details surfacing like disturbed silt from the bottom of a lake, murky and blurred at the edges. While Jack had insisted several times that he couldn't remember the reason for the storm, he'd never actually felt like he'd _forgotten_ something until that moment. But now he took a second look, at those inexplicable moments of frantic energy that something was missing, that strange d _éjà vu_ when he passed over an elementary school playground in his nighttime flights, his suddenly increased desperation that a child _see_ him. His lips pursed together in a tight line and his fingers twisted in the hem of his sweatshirt the more disturbed and agitated he became.

"Hey, kiddo; don't break something. I ain't really that mad at ya, alright? Just worried about ya a little."

"Really?" Jack asked skeptically, snapping to. "But what about-"

"Don't tell no one I said anything about it, though. Got a rep, right? Bunnymund wouldn't let me hear the end of it."

"Sure," Jack mumbled, feeling off-balance and not certain what he was agreeing with. But his fingers relaxed their tight hold on his shirt and he flexed them out further to stretch.

"Don't disappear like that again. Old Man Winter, he don't like working full-time so much. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack repeated, nodding automatically. The Groundhog's lips curled into something that could have been a sneer as much as a smile, and he shuffled over to the entrance of the tunnel he'd come by.

"Well," he said, lowering himself in, "Ya missed the bus on the south this year, Frosty, but I expect to see your footprints all over from now on. Got it?"

"Sure," Jack said, again responding on auto-pilot. His head still spun with fragments of memory and emotion, so much he barely noticed when the Groundhog vanished into the earth and his tunnel melded over with only a snowdrop to show anything supernatural had been there. For a long while Jack stared at it, brow furrowed.

All he had been able to think about regarding the blizzard was the human aspect: the death toll, the damage to houses and lives, how thousands of families lost power and fled to poorly-supplied shelters while the rest of the country sent relief packages by air.

Bunny called it a mess – _Jack's_ mess.

The Groundhog, though... he was worried about Jack _himself_. Worried about the fact that he hadn't carried on like always despite the fact. Was that what he was _supposed_ to do after something like this? Go on pretending nothing was wrong even though he'd so irrevocably screwed up? How could he? All he ever tried to do was make kids smile and laugh, and have fun despite the cold and dark of winter. That blizzard... did the exact opposite.

He shuddered, curling down around himself. The fact that _that_ was all in him... _scared_ him still. He didn't want to know where he'd found the power to do that. Didn't want it to be hidden, dormant; he wanted it gone. There was no reason he needed that much power over ice and snow. He didn't need that much power for a _snow day_.

The Groundhog expected Jack's full participation this winter.

Curling more tightly around his knees, Jack closed his eyes to doze back into a fitful sleep.

He'd better not count on it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So among other things I remembered today's Groundhog Day. So, naturally, I couldn't _not_ post a chapter with Beau in it. I totally didn't plan it; it just worked out that way. :3 (Does six more weeks of winter mean we'll finally get some freaking snow around here? JAHHCK, WARE R U? I know, careful what you wish for -- apologies to everyone stuck in Polar Vortex Mark 2 and not enjoying it.)
> 
> I must get back to homeworking (all the homework, homework for life), BUT I shall leave you off with a little tease that I, personally, _adore_ the next chapter. I hope you will, too.
> 
> Take care, everyone!
> 
> (With my sincerest apologies to Broncos fans and people who don't generally care (like me), I couldn't call myself a proper Washingtonian if I didn't at least say this -- GO SEAHAWKS!!!)


	13. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to concentrate on what I want to say here when I have to hear my brother telling his life story of his day re: snow.
> 
> Like, we finally legitimately have snow. Took long enough. Can has snow day?
> 
> (Let's see if I can manage to get to work tomorrow.)
> 
> So somehow I convinced myself it's Sunday, and that's why you get this tonight. XD
> 
> I'd like to extend a hand to FFN user LeafeonPrincess for correcting my Australian in Ch. 11. Cheers!
> 
> We're organizing a Hug Jack party when this is done if y'all wanna contribute. ;)
> 
> Annnd as you know, you're amazing and fantastic. Thank you for being you and doing all the things you do.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

The air smelled different. Jack decided that was why he woke up and stayed awake no matter how he tried. A breeze blew in, clean and crisp, and the Wind tugged at his crewneck enticingly. _Come on, come, come!_ Jack inhaled again – a spicy carpet of brown leaves on the ground and sharp pumpkin rind, minty pine in the cold air. His heart surged and before he knew what was happening he felt so _alive_.

 _Come out!_ The Wind called to him again. It seemed so excited and eager and then Jack _knew_ – winter had come to Burgess again. And instinct he'd hoped he'd left behind was doing a fine job of sweeping him up instead.

Unsteady on his stiff limbs, Jack crawled out of his hideaway on all fours, blinking up at the white sunlight. Glare had never bothered him before, but now he actually had to squint while his eyes adjusted after months underground. It was still fairly early; steam rose from the dewy crests of hills in the heat of the morning sun. The rest, the dew that had always known shadows, was not actually dew but speckles of frost crystals. Jack knelt and brushed some of it up onto his fingers; it did not melt on his skin. Experimentally he blew some of his magic onto it in a gentle exhale, and it glowed ever so slightly blue in the low light. Brushing it off onto his sweatshirt, Jack pushed to his feet, walking down the small slope to the lake's edge. He dipped a toe into the water. A hair-thin pane of ice spread over the surface of the lake. Jack wanted to add more as he always did, but any more would not match the rest of the landscape. He didn't want to overdo anything right now.

His eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, blood flowing easily to his underused muscles. Jack followed the call of the Wind into the neighborhood beyond. At length he halted on the sidewalk near a white mailbox with two painted hand prints on it. From the other houses, children poured down from their front doors to the street, bottle-necking at a waiting school bus. They all laughed and joked with each other. Some scraped rime from the lawns and dumped it down the back of their friends' shirts, eliciting shrieks of laughter and "No fair!" that carried like soothing music to Jack's frayed nerves.

The kids hadn't changed. They still loved snow, just as much as they always had.

He hadn't broken anything.

 _Nothing_ had been lost.

Relief spread through Jack like a cooling balm. He smiled for the first time since the blizzard. The joyful Wind teased at his hair and pulled him up from the ground. _Enough of feeling sorry for yourself, Jack Frost_ , it seemed to say, _Now go and have some fun._

–

He dusted the world with snow days, and watched the shyest kids come out and play, and make new friends. He joined in their laughter and snowball melees, and sent them home with powdery flakes promising more.

Not one child ever saw him.

Still, he kept on trying.

Forty years later, a child finally believed – a little boy named Jamie Bennett.

–

"You okay, mate?"

Jack jerked up from watching the landscape drift by below. He checked himself, schooled his expression into a contented smile. "Yeah, Bunny, I'm fine." He remembered his last moments on the frozen lake with Jamie, and it was easy to glow from that. The smile reached his eyes then. Bunnymund's ears twitched skeptically; his frown did not budge. His ancestral instincts picked up on something Jack Frost could not hide.

Sandy, the most intuitive of the Guardians, seemed to notice it, too. He turned worried amber eyes on Jack and a first-aid kit with a question mark appeared above his head. _Are you hurt?_

 _I'm not sure_ , Jack thought. His smile faltered despite his efforts. The truth was that an unpleasant something had lurked in the corners of this mind since Jamie first said his name. A feeling that this was not so wonderful as he'd always thought it would be; that this was a cheap knockoff of his expectations; that this unabashed _joy_ he felt at finally being seen, heard, touched, believed in, was _wrong_. It deeply unsettled him, but he could not for the life of him explain why he felt like a traitor now, basking in the glow of belief, the lingering warmth of Jamie's embrace.

It did not hit him full-force until the sleigh had left the ground, after he'd watched Jamie and his friends grow smaller in the distance. Somehow the light of proximity (not to mention the urgency of their battle against Pitch) must have kept the not-quite-memories-but-more-than-mere-emotions at bay. Now that his heart quit hammering and he could relax, he felt he might crumple beneath it.

"I'm fine," he said again, uneasy. Tooth also watched him now, lips tight. She opened her mouth to say something, but then her eyes flickered away and her teeth clicked together. His head buzzed like he ought to have noticed something whisking past his head, but had been too slow to catch it. Straightening, Jack looked fixedly at her. "Tooth?" he asked, eyes a discerning squint. She gave him an apologetic smile.

His fingers curled more tightly around his staff. He didn't realize it until his knuckles began to ache.

North cast a snow globe ahead, and in a blink the sleigh was fast approaching the Workshop. After landing, North and Sandy went ahead (Sandy offering Jack the image of a band-aid to accompany his sympathetic smile before departing), discussing what seemed like plans for a victory celebration. Bunny and Tooth lingered in the sleigh a moment with Jack, who shrank further into himself the more they gazed at him, waiting for him to speak. Letting out a gruff sigh, Bunny hopped out of the sleigh and disappeared after North and Sandy. Looking uncertain, wings flittering with nervous energy, Tooth sidled closer to Jack on the bench seat. The Yeti had already led the reindeer away, and in the stillness Jack even felt little Baby Tooth's eyes on him.

"Jack," Tooth began, awkwardly. This was the first they had been _truly_ alone since they'd met. He recalled _her_ excited victory hug and now it made him want to blush.

"Yeah, Tooth?" He shifted to face her a little more while she fidgeted in place. Her crest flared in her sudden shyness.

"I... I'm glad that you got your memories back, however you did. I'm sorry for getting upset with you." Her violet eyes trained upon the little tooth fairy nestled in Jack's hood. "You know I was worried about Baby Tooth, right?"

Jack nodded understandingly. "Your fairies are a part of you. I'd have reacted the same." And her grateful, relieved smile lit the cave in a way the torches could not. He grinned, at her and at Baby Tooth; he already knew the little fairy had forgiven him by the fact she had not stirred from the folds of his hood.

"You should know, I think, that Bunny forgives you, too. I'm telling you because I think he's too proud to admit it himself."

"Really?" Jack couldn't help asking, genuinely curious to know for sure. His relationship with the elder Guardian had always been the most tenuous. She beamed at him.

"Really. I expect he'll try to make it up to you in his own way; I don't want you to misinterpret anything when he does."

And without her fair warning, Jack realized he probably would.

"Thanks, Tooth," he said. She folded her hands in her lap and her cheeks were the slightest bit pinker. A comfortable silence eased between them. No Yetis roamed around them; the only noise was the crackle of burning torches, the distant sounds of the Workshop echoing down the glacial cave. Despite being surrounded by ice, they felt pleasantly warm. "What did the Moon tell you, Tooth?"

"Hm?" Tooth looked like she'd almost fallen asleep, her head swinging up to face him; the Guardians had all had a long three nights, or thereabouts. Jack slept maybe once a month, if even that, but all of the activity and stress of taking down Pitch had left him _exhausted_. He couldn't imagine how the other Guardians, who had all lost belief and relied on their magic 24/7 to maintain that belief in the first place, must feel now.

"During the flight. You looked like you were going to say something, but then you stopped yourself. I made a wild guess..."

"Oh, Jack," she breathed, lifting a hand. At first she seemed about to brush a tuft of hair behind his ear, but then her lips pursed again and she instead rested her hand on his shoulder. "I wish I knew how I could help you."

"Help me? What do you mean?"

"You feel it too, don't you?" At Jack's perplexed expression she elaborated. "When you accessed your memories, I could feel it. Like when the horizon becomes just a shade lighter and suddenly you _know_ the sun is coming up." And she beamed at him with such affection that he finally did blush. "Baby Tooth told me what you told her. And I was so _proud_ of you – you took exactly what you needed from your memories, and thanks to you we were able to defeat Pitch Black when all seemed lost." Jack cautiously let the happy chills spread through his limbs; he knew the other shoe hung in the air between them.

"But..." (and there it fell) "Something didn't feel right. Like an itch I couldn't scratch. I could tell something was missing, that there was something you still needed to know. _All_ of your childhood memories were in that box, Jack," she reassured him when the color drained from his face. "There's nothing Pitch could have done to them; only myself and my fairies could have opened the box, other than yourself."

"So..." Something tried to clunk into place in the back of his mind. For some reason he felt _scared_ again. "Did the Moon tell you that? Tell you what was missing?" And would she please tell _him_?

But Tooth shook her head forlornly. "All he said was I should leave everything to him."

Jack stared at her. "I can't believe it," he muttered, anger etching into his voice and he glared at the floor of the sleigh. "After everything, he's as cryptic as ever? Are you _kidding_ me?"

"I'm so sorry, Jack; all we can do right now is _trust_ that he's going to set everything right. Just like he did with you."

Jack stilled, the anger settling out of his blood. Tooth was right. The Man in the Moon _did_ have a good reason for everything he did. Just by choosing him as the newest Guardian, the Moon helped Jack find his lost memories, his purpose, his center... and at last, he had a _family_. He turned his eyes toward Tooth, noticed how her vibrant plumage seemed iridescent in the guttering torchlight, like a three-dimensional mosaic of precious stones. "Leave it to me," the Moon had said. It made him want to sulk somewhere. But he'd already been doing that for 300 years. And it was time for something a little different.

"Hey, Tooth," Jack said, and taking her hand made her blush. Grinning at her flustered expression, he gave her small hand a gentle squeeze. "Thanks." Still grasping her fingers in his he stood, pulling her up with him. "Shall we see what the others are up to?"

He laughed out loud at her stammered "Yes" and finally released her. She hovered unsteadily at pace with him, looking quite unsure of where to keep her eyes. Baby Tooth seemed to be chiding Jack's conduct from her perch on his shoulder, but he cheekily pretended not to notice.

Making Tooth blush proved a worthy pursuit. So did casting snowfall over the victory banquet the Yetis prepared that evening, and racing ice tortoises against sand hares. North laughed uproariously at everything, and Bunny became the closest to friendly Jack had ever known after several cups of egg nog.

Everything was changing; they could feel it in the air around them.

And as the new Guardian of Fun, Jack Frost was going to change the best he could.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack and the Wind is my favorite thing to write about. This is a thing I've decided.
> 
> I don't ship Rainbow Snowcone what gave you that idea. Although I don't think it's more present here than it is in canon? Maybe? I don't know. I know I was having the feelings when I first wrote the scene. Maybe I'm desensitized. /sidebar
> 
> Guyyyyyss. You guyyy _yyysssssss..._
> 
> Unless I decide to do something mad like split the next chapter (which, I've tried; I really can't find a good spot), we have ONE CHAPTER LEFT. And it is long. And it is feels. And I'm scared as nuts. Cos I'm so used to posting a one-shot and being like "here it is" and running off to the next thing; so not used to posting a multi-chapter and building a readership (you!) for the story and carrying you guys through to the end. And I really hope you have enjoyed the ride, heart-achey as it is (I get the feeling you have, cos you're still here!); and I really hope you enjoy the end.
> 
> It will be here next weekend!
> 
> Until then, take care! *hearts forever*


	14. I'll Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek! I am soooooo sorry for the delay, you guys! School and suddenly social life and more school and midterms and gah all happened. BUT. SPRING BREAK IS A THING. So here you are. More or less not on schedule.
> 
> Guys. This is it. (Except for the follow-ups I plan to do eventually; you remember I mentioned that, right?)
> 
> The last chapter. And I'm posting it.
> 
> Like, this is actually _done._
> 
> Holy crap.
> 
> Guys. I have no idea what to say. I'm _super_ -nervous.
> 
> You can see on my page I mostly do one-shots, that I just drop and then run on to the next thing.
> 
> I'm not used to carrying on through multiple chapters (successfully; like, to a _conclusion_ ) and even less used to having someone (you!) along for the ride.
> 
> So I really don't know what to say, now that we're coming to the close.
> 
> Except, "Here it is.
> 
> And I really hope you like it.
> 
> And I hope it was worth the wait."
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work is my intellectual property. I do not give you or anyone else permission to offer my works for download.

Even if Bunnymund could forgive him for the Blizzard of '68, Jack didn't know how he could ever forgive himself. None of the other Guardians held it against him. Accidents happen, they said, and there was nothing they could do now. They were still needed, and that meant they had to stay in top form no matter what.

Jack tried to adopt their viewpoint, but he just couldn't. It nagged at him, gnawed at the back of his mind that he had _screwed up_ so monstrously, yet he could not remember a thing. Even recovering the memories of his human life didn't bring it back.

Enough time had passed that Jack wanted to be okay with never knowing, if he didn't remember it by now.

 _::You've_ _**lost** _ _something::_

Jack flinched and clenched his fists hard on his staff. He never told anyone how Pitch had first taunted him, long before the memories in his baby teeth were ever an issue. How the Boogeyman looked just _gleeful_ about the secrets he knew.

And for that reason alone Jack wanted the whole incident buried for good.

–

_"Are you Jack Frost?"_

_Jack turned in surprise, expecting a child but seeing a young teenage girl, her head cocked to the side. Her long hair swept over one eye and Jack thought of Sophie, but this couldn't be her. This child's eyes were blue, her hair coal-black._

_"Yeah," Jack replied, stunned that she could see him. That she could be so much older, and still believe in the intangible... "Yeah, that's me. Jack Frost."_

_"I can't believe it's you," she said, tears welling in her eyes and hands pressed to her mouth. "I thought— I mean, they told me..."_

_Jack took a hesitant step back. She gasped and looked so sad and he was so_ _**confused** _ _. Who was she? "What's your name?" he asked, and he couldn't bear her stricken face..._

_"You... you don't remember me?"_

_Jack shook his head, frowning. "I'm sorry."_

_"You_ _**promised** _ _you wouldn't! It's me, Violet! Violet Parr!"_

 _**Violet Parr** _ _._

 _Jack closed his eyes briefly to search his memory for the name – he_ _**never** _ _forgot a kid – but nothing came. He opened his eyes again and what he saw knocked his breath out of him._

_A little girl of about seven, with long black hair and round blue eyes, pouted up at him._

_"Oh my God," Jack gasped, heart thudding so hard into his sternum he felt sick._

_Violet Parr._

_The little girl he granted a snow-day-wish for and taught how to skate and shared a bowl of ice cream with._

_A snowflake fell through the air between them. Without even squinting, Violet cast a force field around it. She watched him steadily. "You told me I was special," she accused, "You said you would come back."_

_Jack sank slowly to his knees. He twisted his hands in his lap like a churchgoer seeking forgiveness. "Violet," he said, voice thick with sorrow, "I am so, so sorry."_

_"I waited for you every day. And when you didn't come back, I cried so much, my school made me go to a doctor."_

_Jack's eyes widened with horror. "What happened then?"_

_She shook her head. "Mom got mad at them. And then Mom made me go to a different school. She looked at me funny sometimes, after that. I don't think she believed you were real. Jack, why didn't you come back?"_

_"I did, Violet," Jack insisted, nails digging into the fabric of his pants, "But you had_ _**moved** _ _. I didn't know where you guys had gone. I looked_ _**everywhere** _ _for you. Please, believe me."_

 _Violet looked stunned. "Mom said you_ _**would** _ _find us."_

_Jack could only shake his head. "I'm sorry."_

_And she looked so guilty. "I stopped believing in Santa and them." Her eyes widened at what she'd just said and she covered her mouth in horror. "Were they also real, the whole time?"_

_Grim-faced, Jack nodded. Fat tears plummeted down her cheeks and she wailed, and Jack pulled her into a tight hug. "It's okay," he soothed, hand on her hair, "You believe in them all now, right?"_

_"Yeah. But..." Violet pulled away, biting her lip._

_"What?"_

_Before his eyes she grew tall again and her features matured into the fourteen-year-old who greeted him, the one he saw in New York before the blizzard. She continued to age. Jack drew back, unable to look away as Violet grew past her twenties and thirties into middle age, hair cropped and greying. Her face developed fine lines and lost its softness, looked more like parchment than porcelain. It took only seconds, but seemed to last forever._

_Finally Violet spoke, and her voice was heart-breaking – the voice of a woman as old as she looked._

_"I haven't believed in a very long time." Tears welled in her eyes again and Jack tried to pull her in again, but she pushed back against his chest, mouth twisted with regret._

" _I'm sorry Jack. I'm really sorry I did this to you. Can you ever forgive me?"_

_"Did what? Violet, what are you-"_

_She vanished. Completely. She hadn't merely turned invisible. Thrusting his hands forward yielded no contact. "Violet!" he yelled, jumping to his feet and scanning around. The environment was grey and barren._

_It reminded him of Pitch's lair._

_But Pitch was defeated, wasn't he? How could Jack have a nightmare now?_

_Bright silver light washed over the landscape and drew Jack's eyes upward. The Moon shone onto him, motes in the beams sparkling like fresh snow._

_Tears formed in his eyes. "I remember_ _**everything** _ _," he said, voice hoarse, "That blizzard... That was because of_ _**her** _ _. How could I have forgotten any of that?"_

 _A sound like a wind chime echoed in his ears. Anger flared in his chest. "_ _**You** _ _did that._ _**You** _ _erased my memories of her."_

_The chiming sound came again, and despite himself calm flushed out the rage in his veins._

_**"I am sorry, Jack Frost."** _

_Just like over forty years ago. And Jack understood – an apology for losing his first believer before he was strong enough to take the loss. He might have covered the whole world in a never-ending winter until he got her back..._

_"Why now?" Jack questioned, skeptical gaze leveled at the Moon. "Even if I'm able to move on after forty years, it still hurts so much..."_

_Another ringing in his ears. Violet, as a middle-aged woman, popped like a strobe light in his mind's eye. Jack blinked it away._

_"You want me to find her. How? Where do I start? Would she even **see** me?" For that, the Moon gave no answer. Jack frowned. Typical. He looked around himself again, landing on the place Violet Parr had stood. The moonlight dimmed._

Jack bolted upright.

He peered around the unfamiliar room until he remembered he was in North's workshop, and dropped back onto the pillow, strangely out of breath. Violet's rapidly aging face played before him over and over again. He'd watched kids grow up for the past 300 years, but he never thought it so grisly until now.

Was that really from the Moon? Or was it one of Pitch's nightmares after all? Jack took in and let out a deep breath.

It was early; the workshop was quiet. Jack slipped out of bed, casting a wary eye to the window, and the arctic Wind cloying to be let in, to carry him away. _Let's look for her!_

Jack shook his head again, scraping his fingers along his scalp to wake himself up, ground himself. Every time he blinked he saw Violet's matured visage – why couldn't he believe he had never seen _that_ face before?

A ghost of Pitch's laughter oozed up from the depths of his memory. _"You've_ _ **lost**_ _something, Jack Frost."_

He'd lost the last forty years of knowing a girl had believed in him, not just the two days he'd actually spent with her.

Grimacing, he shook his head again, more violently. The _last_ thing he needed to do was fall victim again to the Boogeyman's tricks, no matter if it happened decades ago.

Here and now, Jack knew he'd had a dream; now he remembered her, and the weight of it crushed his lungs down to shallow breaths. Gripping the bed post grounded him.

Things made so much more sense now.

 _...Pitch_ _**knew** _ _, the_ _**whole time!** _

"Stop it," he growled at that hissing voice in his head – no longer able to taunt him about belief, it now resorted to memories he couldn't help.

Pitch was gone. He posed no threat.

Taking up his staff from where it leaned against the headboard made Jack feel steadier – in body and mind. The morning light grew brighter, and the residue of bad dreams shrank away. His fears still pulsed at the rear of his consciousness, but really, that was not any new thing.

Taking a bracing breath, Jack walked to the heavy wooden door and pushed it open. It swung smooth and silent on its large brass hinges, and Jack could see into the column of the workshop. The Globe glittered with belief and that helped reassure him more. Jack couldn't help but smile at the sight, so understatedly comforting even though he'd only just become a Guardian himself.

A few stray early-bird Yeti shuffled around the lower levels of the workroom, though it was not yet nearly the buzzing web of activity, cacophonous noise and terse growls of instruction Jack knew it could be.

Pensive still, Jack crossed to the guard rail and leaned his forearms upon it, peering down the levels. He watched the Globe rotate lazily on its axis, his lips turning upward when he spotted the cluster of lights in Burgess, Pennsylvania.

The other Guardians could have the rest of the world's children to believe in them. The children of Burgess were _his_.

 _Mine_. The thought made his heart skip happily. Belief. He had believers. Not just one but a whole circle. It felt _good_.

_What about Violet Parr?_

The stray question stopped him cold – he even shivered into the banister. What _about_ Violet? Was there anything he could do, now? _Should_ he do anything? Violet was quite middle-aged by now, rather outside his demographic.

He looked down at his hands white-knuckling the edges of the rail. He wanted – _needed_ – to see her again, just once. Even if she didn't (or couldn't) believe in him again, he at least needed to know if she was alright…

"Jack?"

He jumped, so deep in thought he hadn't heard North's heavy footfalls.

"Why are you awake?"

Shrugging, Jack turned around to face the big man, who was now adjusting the lay of his cummerbund over his belly. North cleared his throat of residual sleep-induced gruffness and joined the newest Guardian at the rail, folding his arms on it like Jack had. Now Jack leaned back on his elbows, fixing his eyes on his bare feet, spreading his toes experimentally over the dark wood planks.

"I... had a dream. Woke me up." He lifted his toes, fanning them out, only his heels making contact with the floor. The stretch in his calves felt nice after all of yesterday's activity.

"Hmm," North hummed, an innocent prompting noise that could have gone ignored, watching Jack from the edges of his vision. When it became clear North was not going to steer this conversation at all, Jack sighed reluctantly, leveling his feet on the floor again.

"The thing is," and he determinedly kept his gaze downward, "I can't tell if it was just a dream or a... or a message of some kind." It sounded silly out loud. Out the corner of his eye Jack was surprised to match side-stares with North. "Or even a nightmare," he added softly, shuddering again. Straightening a little, North turned so he faced Jack more directly, just one elbow on the banister now.

"What was dream about?" he asked, bushy eyebrows lowered discerningly.

Sighing again, shrugging at the tension in his shoulders, Jack struggled to begin. "It was... I... Part of me thinks the Moon gave it to me. Like he wanted me to know something."

North's brow now shot up in wonder at Jack's mention of the Man in the Moon, but he didn't say anything.

"But it wasn't a _good_ dream. Sort of freaky. Uhm..." There was nothing for holding back any information if he wanted advice. "The Moon told me, once, I had a believer. Before Jamie. About forty years ago."

"Jack..." and the way the steel fell from the powerful man before him, brow and shoulders drooping in sympathy, almost made Jack want to run for embarrassment that he'd caused North so much distress. But he pushed on.

"I couldn't remember her; I haven't for forty years, and _now_ he tells me about her? North, I don't know what to think." And he told him all the rest: about her wish for a snow day and teaching her how to skate; about the panic beating in his chest as the years continued to pass him by with no sign of her; and finally about his dream and about her greying hair and how badly he'd betrayed her when she had been his whole _world_ , and how could that not have a touch of nightmare about it? "I want to believe it was the Moon, because that's better than it being Pitch. I just don't understand why he'd tell me _now_ , in this way."

Silence hung between them. Noises of Yetis testing toy prototypes drifted up from the workshop levels below. None of it distracted North's attention; he only had eyes for Jack. "I think it was Man in Moon," he said with great finality. Jack's shoulders dropped; he hadn't realize how truly tense they had become until North's words released it. "I think he tells you now because you are stronger spirit, as you say. You have time to heal; you have friends who will help you. You are not forced to face alone."

And Jack's flinch at the unwelcome thought – unwelcome _memories_ – of dealing with that very same loss by himself only affirmed North's assessment. The man's bright blue eyes softened considerately and he wrapped a big hand over Jack's shoulder.

"It is good that you talk with me about this. Yes? You are feeling better now, yes?" And he gave Jack a playful shake, rooted in concern for his wellbeing, and the young Guardian couldn't help the indulgent smile working across his face. He beamed up at North, who chuckled and winked at him. "Come; we will visit Yetis in kitchen. Maybe fresh-baked cookies are the cherry on top, hmm?" Jack shook his head affectionately.

And he stilled. "North... is there anything I should do?"

"What do you mean?"

Jack shrugged again. "The Moon told me about her for a reason. Should I, I dunno... Try to find her, or something?" A thought popped into his mind. "Would you happen to know where she is now?" The hope died just as quickly at North's solemn expression. His eyes crinkled sympathetically.

"I am sorry, Jack. Is hard to trace children who become grownups, children who no longer believe. I can tell you where she lived before stopping, but she would have still been child."

Understanding, Jack nodded. After a pause he murmured, "I still want to see her. Any idea where to start?"

The man had no answer; just undisguised sorrow for Jack's plight.

"It's okay," Jack assured him quickly, forcing a confident smile. "I'll figure something out. Thanks for the talk."

"Is no problem. Please; any time you are troubled, talk to us. We will help."

"Sure. Oh, hey – why weren't my memories of Violet with my baby teeth?"

"Hmm. Maybe because Violet was after you lost teeth. But I suggest you ask Tooth. She will know for certain." Tooth had gone back to her palace before Jack went to bed; he didn't want to look for it, or disturb her when she'd been practically on forced leave for the past few nights.

"Right." Jack almost had to laugh at himself. "Save a candy cane or something for me, will you?" Guffawing at the sudden switch in topic, North nonetheless nodded and winked again, bellowing something about valiantly fighting off hordes of elves as he headed down to the kitchens. Jack leaned casually against the banister and watched him go, then returned to his room. The sun had grown brighter, it seemed, the floorboards hot on the soles of his feet. Jack stepped onto a thick floor rug and halted, burrowing his toes into the coarse hair. He tapped the butt of his staff on the floor a couple times to reel in his thoughts. Even though he had no clue where to begin, he shivered to reconnect with Violet. The window rattled as the Wind called to be let in. _Let's go find her,_ it seemed to say. Raising an eyebrow, Jack considered it appraisingly.

"Do _you_ know?" he asked aloud, and tried to convince himself he'd only imagined the new vigor with which the Wind slammed against the panes – _of course not, but I think I know where to start_. He looked back through his still-open door. Did he _need_ to know why the memories had to come from the Moon _now_ , or could it wait? The Wind seemed eager to set off right away.

And when he thought about it, so was he.

So Jack threw open the window and arctic air crashed in, sweeping him up and out into the frigid air. Taken quite by surprise, Jack let himself go to it and barked a whooping laugh, spreading out his limbs for flight. "Come on, then!" he crowed, and the Wind whisked him away due south.

The ground below quickly grew familiar and Jack realized that the Wind was carrying him to Burgess. Somehow... that felt _right_.

Burgess eased into its after-school bustle when Jack landed. He skipped going to the lake for the moment. Anticipation buzzed within him – he'd initially been doubtful about _really_ starting where it had all began, but now that his feet had touched the ground it just _felt_ _**right**_ to be here. There was something here that was important.

So Jack decided to take the town on foot. He craned his neck over pedestrians and cars for a glimpse of her. Nothing promising in the shopping area; there was no guarantee that she would be here at this moment. Jack halted on a street corner and leaned on his staff, hand in his pocket (and he remembered New York). The residential areas of Burgess dwarfed the economic district. Going from home to home seeking the adults would be a _pain_ – they might just as easily be at work or shopping or getting the kids from softball practice. He needed to narrow this down.

In his zoned-out visual sweep of the streets, Jack's eyes halted cold on a thick book hanging from a payphone booth.

Well. It was worth a try.

Violet had still called herself "Parr" in his dream. That may have only been his subconscious filling in details, unless the Man in the Moon really was behind it, in which case... He quietly asked Lady Luck to be _nice_ this time. The book was too dense to pore over for first names.

"Parr... Parr... Come on..."

He'd hit the Parsons'. Not much longer...

Nothing. His mind buzzed for further ideas.

An inkling of one dropped into his mind. It was so ridiculous that it couldn't have been his own thought, but now he really hoped it was crazy enough to work. "Come on, Luck, don't be a –"

_Rydinger, Brad, and Violet Parr._

…

He couldn't believe it.

 _She'd_ married Tony's _brother_?

But Jack put that aside. Excitement burgeoned too hugely in his chest for him to be bemused (or extremely amused) about anything. There was no way it was a different girl – woman. "Violet" wasn't that common a name, and neither was "Parr."

She lived in town – Jack knew that street name from somewhere, something recent... He tore the page out of the book when no one was looking in his direction and flew into the residential area. He started on the main road, followed it down to almost the end before he saw the street he wanted crossing perpendicular. A quick comparison of the house numbers on either side of the intersection sent him left, and he realized why he remembered this street.

 _No, that's_ _**too** _ _much of a coincidence..._

But the numbers matched and Jack could. not. believe. what he was seeing.

This was _Pippa's_ house. The girl to whose window he'd carried Jamie to knock on just _nights_ ago. The nervous girl who'd had a secret crush on Jamie (his favorite) for _years_.

 _She_ was _Violet's_ daughter?!

Despite centuries of evidence to the contrary, Jack still liked to think his inner frostiness granted him immunity from shivering, but it had never failed him so much as right now. His fingers twitched; he tightened his grip on his staff. Violet Parr was either in there now, or would be coming home later.

Squaring his shoulders, Jack moved to the front door, and let himself in.

Violet sat at the kitchen table, gazing sightlessly out the window. She looked toward the sound of the opening door, at the light pouring in. A strange calm washed over him and the tension fell out of his shoulders entirely. For the first time in _decades_.

"Pippa?" Violet called. She couldn't see him. And... he was okay with that. She was too old to have faith in such figments as him, anyway.

She pushed her chair back and crossed to close the door, a puzzled frown on her face. Her eyes roved past him every time. Her unseeing gaze made him a little sad, as such things always did, but the wrenching pain in his heart never happened. He was _okay_. Violet was okay and all grown up and a mother, and she didn't believe in him anymore. And with a steady exhale, Jack nodded to her without being perceived; maybe that was the way things were supposed to be.

Jack may not have had Violet's belief anymore, but he had her daughter's. He had Jamie and Cupcake and all the rest. That was enough. It wouldn't stop his feelings for her, or change them, or anything. Nothing tainted his memories of her: for two glorious days, she'd been perfect and everything he needed. Now he could guard that time safe in his heart forevermore.

A little sigh escaped him, and a little smile crossed his features. _Time to go_ , he thought. He opened the door and closed it again; she might have told herself it was the fickle wind. He huffed a short laugh at the thought – sometimes the Wind indeed was like that.

"Hi, Jack!" a young girl's voice hailed him, and Jack grinned broadly. Pippa's bus drove away, and Pippa herself was walking up the path with the mail held to her chest. "What brings you here?"

Jack shrugged to stall for a bit of time to concoct a cover story. Vague. Go for vague. "Just in the neighborhood. Seeing who's home."

"Did you want to get everyone together for something?" Pippa asked, cocking her head to the side – and she looked so much like her mother when she did that...

"Oh, no; not right now, anyway. How was school?"

"Okay. Boring. Have you seen Jamie, today?" When Jack shook his head she giggled conspiratorially. "You should go visit him. He has a surprise for you." With this cryptic message delivered, Pippa hurried past him to the front door. "See you later, Jack!" she called, and he waved farewell. He ran around to look in the kitchen window. Their voices were muffled behind the closed pane. He was going to miss her, he knew. He flattened a hand against the glass. Frost ferns spiraled from his palm and fingertips, until the whole pane was filled and he drew his hand away.

"Goodbye, Violet Parr," he whispered, backing away. At the sidewalk he stayed watching the house, memorizing it. Any time he came here from now on, it would be for Pippa. Not her mother.

Violet Parr was the little girl who'd just moved in and was too shy to go make new friends. She didn't know how to skate and had to be reminded how Very Special she was, and needed to know it was great that she was different. And for two days he was her best friend. She'd loved him. He'd loved _her_. Still did, but for the girl she used to be; he couldn't know her now. Her daughter needed him more.

Nodding with finality, Jack let the Wind pick him up again. "Let's go see Jamie," he said, and it carried him away. He left Violet Parr behind.

–

"Hi, Mom!" Pippa chirped when she'd closed the door, toeing her shoes off before she entered the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie. Did I hear you talking to someone, before you came in?"

"Yeah," Pippa said, crossing to the fridge. She disappeared behind the door and resurfaced with an apple in her mouth.

"Who? I didn't hear anyone else." Didn't Violet hear her daughter call them "Jack?" Pippa seemed reluctant to answer, but in the end shrugged and took the bite out of her apple.

"Jack Frost."

"Really, now?" She wasn't sure whether Pippa was being silly in light of the recent snowfall or if she really had a classmate named Jack Frost.

"Yeah. I have to feed my fish, Mom." And she ran up the stairs, leaving Violet the closest to bemused she had been in a long time. Deciding to let it go – Pippa was still young enough for such flights of fancy – she returned to gazing out the window.

One pane had frosted over. Just... _One_.

A pall of wonder warmed her spine. Something looked _off_ about it. She stood again and leaned toward it over the sink. She swiped a finger across the pane it.

Unbelievable...

The window had frosted on the _inside_.

"'See you later, Jack,'" she mouthed. That was what she'd heard her daughter call.

_"Jack Frost."_

_**No way.** _

Pippa was in the upstairs bathroom; Violet stole a peek into her room. A fresh drawing sat on her desk, of what looked like a Russian Santa Claus, a large rabbit, a green fairy, a yellow... dwarf? But what struck her was the image of a tall, skinny boy carrying a hooked staff, in brown pants and a blue hoodie, and white hair. The hoodie was the only thing different – everything else matched a visual she'd convinced herself was a dream a long time ago.

"I can't believe it," she whispered, backing away from the drawing. Violet moved downstairs to the master bedroom, to the walk-in closet where she kept a chest of keepsakes from her childhood. A bit of rummaging turned up a battered shoebox with weak corners and frayed edges. She'd never been able to throw away anything in this – _this_ was her treasure chest. And it took a little more searching after she pulled the lid off to find it, but there it lay still after all these years. The paper had yellowed badly, and the once-blue ink looked a blackish-green. But the image remained crisp as the first day: a simple snowflake in a wavering force field.

Violet hastened back to the window, ice still in place except where she'd ruined it with her finger. There was no way to be entirely sure, but she swore she was just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a boy, lanky and the slightest bit ungainly in the air, swooping away down the street.

_::I'll come back::_

 

 

On the Guardians' globe, a long-dead light flickered into gold.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: Thank you. Thank you so much. You have been so wonderful, and so enthusiastic, and so... everything. I've said it all before and it bears repeating. I am so grateful that I have been able to post this over the past seven months, and have such an amazing following along the way. Thank you for waiting through long delays, for having all the feels (and, I dare say, coming back for more no matter how many times I broke them?), and for generally making my day every time you commented, bookmarked, and kudos'd. This entire journey; it's done my heart good. Thank you for walking it with me. *hugs*
> 
> This story is not over. There's more to say about Jack and Violet. I don't know for sure when that will happen (I have a lot of other works I've wanted to pin down and finish for _years_ now. _Years._ ) but I would be surprised if it didn't happen within the year. I have some ideas, but not enough inspiration; I will wait for it to strike, whenever it feels like it. I hope you will keep an eye out for it. :)
> 
> And now... I think we have come to the end of this journey. I have loved every moment.
> 
> Truly, thank you all so much.
> 
> Keep on believing.
> 
> ~SocialMoth


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